


I've Grown to Hate You

by JellyFicsnFucks



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Child Abandonment, Determination Drug Use, Dysfunctional Family, Eggs, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Infant Death, Infanticide, Kill or be killed, Medical, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Medical Trauma, Minor Character Death, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Property Destruction, Sibling Incest, Strangers to Lovers, Vomiting, blood and dust, plot heavy, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:00:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 40,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22190716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JellyFicsnFucks/pseuds/JellyFicsnFucks
Summary: Kiddo Sans has been abandoned by his family, only to find out he's been replaced by a new baby brother. How they meet and grow up in this version of Underfell is just one of the challenges they face together.(Tags will change and rating will change- be aware! be safe.)
Relationships: ? - Relationship, Papyrus & Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time there was a small skeleton, abandoned by his parents… abandoned by the world. He stole food to stave off his hunger and because of it he was hunted and hated by adults. In a place of kill or be killed, street rats weren’t allowed to exist. They were merely fodder for stronger monsters. 

The small skeleton had been in fights before with stronger opponents and while narrowly escaping with his own life. He learned he was insanely weak and that this weakness came from a lack of love. But without the experience of battle that love point would never grow and the small skeleton would always be one hp point away from dusting.

Afraid of being dusted in his sleep the small skeleton avoided the open city and instead retired to waterfall where he carved out a home for himself from the soft soil behind the falls. Each day he would sleep in that cramped dirt hole and each day he would carve out more and more space… digging deeper and deeper into the earth until his hands were cut and bled. A small crevice started to shape up into a home, with enough space for the monster to at least stand without his head hitting the ceiling. The creature spent most his time sleeping.. Afraid to go outside except to sate his hunger.

One day… The small skeleton had become bitter towards the world. He hated his cursed luck. He hated that his parents abandoned him. He hated that he was forced to live on the streets like an animal. 

He saw other children walk hand in hand with their parents. It was normal and despite it being seen as weak to care for another, monsters who openly displayed affection either traveled in packs or were strong enough to handle themselves in a fight. Most of the time monsters would avoid conflict without provocation, family wasn't a luxury for the strong to have and yet… 

The small skeleton longed for family. He longed for a home and a place to belong. He once tried to go back to his old childhood home, only to find he had been replaced. A baby slept in the room that was once his; a child his parents conceived to replace him, a brother he never knew.

The small skeleton was bitter. Very bitter. 

One night he pried open the window and entered the room and he stood over the crib, bone attack in hand. If only he had a little exp. A little love… maybe he could manage himself equally in a fight. If he had killed the brat that replaced him then maybe his parents would take him back. If he could just blame his anger on this tiny sleeping creature maybe… just maybe life would be better.

The small skeleton put down his weapon and stared at the creature who he knew was his baby brother. The child slept snug in a cradle surrounded by toys and warm blankets. Sucking its thumb, it was fast asleep. Oblivious to the plight of the other monster above him.

The small skeleton made to raise his hand again, to stab the child… 

But he couldn't. 

Would this be his first kill? A defenseless baby? 

Sure it made for good exp, it was an unfair fight in his favor but there was something else in him that pang of guilt. This was his family. Granted, a family he could never be apart of but a family he had longed for. A family he would never know the warmth of again. He was going to rob a life from a defenseless baby. He would only repeat the same hurt he had felt a thousand times over…now with his hands stained.

There was no chance his life would improve. There was no way for him to be taken back into this home. There was no reason to feel anger towards a baby, his brother, who had replaced him. He couldn't blame the newborn for his own shitty life...but then again, what if it would make things better? What if his parents came in and we're proud of him for making his first kill. What if he was welcomed home and allowed to stay?

The small skeleton stood above the crib, poised to strike for hours. His mind kept running in circles, hoping beyond a doubt that he could return to his old life… but unable to accept the consequences. The sun had begun to rise when he finally reached his resolve and looked into the baby's wide unblinking red eyes. The baby wouldn't understand, but the small skeleton stuttered a greeting into the quiet room. 

“G..g’mornin.”

This was his brother. He awkwardly dismissed his attack, letting the bone structure dissolve into the air and cursed at himself. He had spent too much time here, he needed to go before he was caught. 

He made to turn away but felt tiny hands pull at his ragged shirt. The small skeleton snapped his head back, looking at the infant and did a check on him. 

8/8 .

The child was born with better odds than he had, perhaps that's why his parents had kept this one. He would grow to be strong and tall and judging by the flicker in his eye, very smart. He tried to pry the tiny hands off him, without hurting the other. 

“I have to go now…” He said in a whisper, he felt dumb for talking to a baby but the soft look he got from the infant melted his soul, at once those chubby little hands let go of him. The infant did not understand but the image of the other skeleton stayed in his memory as he fell back asleep and the intruder crept out the house without a sound.


	2. Chapter 2

Years had passed. The small skeleton learned to tinker with the trash in waterfall to make new and unique items. The space he had carved out with his hands had become a decent sized room where he drug pillows and blankets into a neat stack along the wall. Christmas lights strung up on the ceiling to light the place and machine parts littered the floor, as did books he managed to scrounge up.

The small skeleton had stopped stealing food, and to make a living had tried to sell his crafts.He wouldn't make a lot of money… just enough to make the snowdin bunny raise an eyebrow and allow him to purchase a loaf of bread. 

He still found himself in fights just not as often and not over small thefts like in the past. He had done his best to stay under the radar and just hide. He couldn't change the fact that his hp was low and he found he didn't need too. He avoided fights, always ran. He was small and fast and escaping was easier than battle.

It was Christmas when he had seen his brother again. Hand in hand with mom and dad, the family walked across the waterfall bridge to go see Santa. The small skeleton stared up at them from his dirt cave below the falls, jealousy ground itself deep in his jaw.  
He followed the family, watched the child that replace him make small emotes and point at Santa with such a joy spread across his features… He watched his dad pick up the child and his mother laugh while taking a photo. The family was dressed in clean crisp new winter clothes, warm and proper, while the small skeleton stalked from the shadows… Cold… ragged…. Dirty…

He couldn't bare to watch anymore. The scene was making himself sick. Envy only wore heavy on his soul. He thought he was passed this emotion. He thought he had moved on but he was still only a child himself. He longed for the touch of a warm hand petting his head and a family who would take care of him and the doting tone of someone who cared about him. 

He knew he shouldn't want these things… that they were impossible for a monster like him… yet.

He was crying. Crumpled into himself in the dirty alley way the monster heaved sob after sob, crying uncontrollably until he felt a hand on his knee. He flinched at once, unaware of someone having sneaked up on him, but as he looked up he saw the wide unblinking eyes of his replacement. Then, two flustered parents trying to pry the child away from 'such a dirty monster'.

The small skeleton looked at his father, then his mother. There was no doubt the family recognized their first son, skeletons were rare after all, but there was no mercy nor regret in their eyes. As far as they were concerned they only had one son… the wonderful child who, right now, held out his hand for the other to shake.

“My name is Paps!” The energetic child said. “You're a skel’ten too! We shou’d be friends! Wha's your name?”

The small skeleton backed away. His eyes filled with fear, for over the small energetic child his parents bared their magic; a warning to him to back away. His parents eyes were filled with hatred. Those eyes bore through him with intensity enough to burn, they scorned his existence. Sans crawled away, apologetic and fearful.

The child called Paps, tilted his head, confused and unaware of the killing intent from his mom and dad. His parents pulled their new son by the hand and walked out of the alley way. Even as he left, the toddler's eyes were focussed only on the small monster that cowered away from him and he stumbled as he was pulled away. 

The small skeleton wiped the tears from his face and tried to stop his sniffling. He stood on shaky feet and headed in the opposite direction to his own home, until he heard a woman scream. He froze, his head snapped towards the direction. Then another scream followed, then silence. 

The small skeleton, suddenly sprung to action. He jumped further back into the shadows avoiding the main path and stayed there. Unmoving for minutes,waiting for the attacker to run past him so he could feel safe again. The underground was always full of crime and murder and despite a tacit peace around holidays letting your guard down was fatal. 

The small skeleton sat with his head in his knees, hyper aware of his surroundings. He notices the tiny toddler called Paps approached him again, probably lost his way during the scramble of monsters clearing the street. The toddler approached him and shook his shoulder and asking for his name. The small skeleton,curtly shushed him, unsure if a larger monster was heading this way. Even if the attack was over with, their parents were sure to head this way… and interacting with the toddler could mean he’d be dusted too. 

Paps shook his shoulder again and again. His voice getting louder and louder, demanding the others name. The small skeleton had to snap his head up and try to warn the other about making a scene and drawing attention but…

He saw the blood and mixture of dust on the child's frame, yet the smile on his teeth remained. Unwavering. The look in his eyes exuded not fear but excitement. The look a child sported when they had got a new pet, not when they had witnessed their first murder. Was the child having problems coping? Was the blood his or someone else's? He checked the child for injuries. - 21/25 . 

It had raised. 

His love had increased and the smile on his face never ceased.

The small skeleton knew in that moment the child had killed his parents… their parents. He had done so in an instant and held no remorse for it. Instead he kept repeating his question.

“Wha’s your name?”  
The small skeleton felt a jolt of fear in his spine. Already the toddler was stronger than him and able to take two adults in a fight. Ready to kill without a shred of concern about his guardians… his parents… 

This wasn't a child, he was deserving of the word monster. The skeleton gulped. Behind those cute large red eyes there was an undertone of impatience, of boredom. The small skeleton could only imagine himself being dusted next if he didn't entertain the child.

“Ss..sans!” He all but blurted. “My name! My name is Sans!”

The child beamed up at him, blood still dripping off his bubbled coat. He held up his arms to the air, wanting to be carried. “You're my big bro now!” The child announced.

If it weren't true before, the other had just demanded it as a fact. Sans nodded his head and picked up the child who immediately clung two arms around his neck and nuzzled him. Sans paled, unsure if the other was going to bite out his throat until he realised the act was only a hug. A tiny hug from what those small hands could muster.

All at once he began to cry. Cried for the loss of the parents who never accepted him. Cried for the loss of innocence from his baby bro. Cried for the helplessness he felt. Cried for the harsh life he had lived, but most of all, he cried just out of self pity. Pity that this tiny hug could warm even his soul a bit was pathetic.

“Don’ cry anymore...” Paps pat his head. “They’re dead. T’ey won't hurt you anymore…” 

Those horrifying words from a child made Sans choke up a sob. Yes, he hated his mother and father but they were his parents! They were his! He never wanted them dead, he just wanted them to accept him and yet this child, he had tried to kill a few years ago, was now holding him so warmly. Was cooing soft murderous words beside his ear.

This is hell. Sans thought. This child is the devil.


	3. Chapter 3

Paps led him out of the alley, taking lead of the situation and Sans numbly followed. He felt helpless next to this toddler. It's clear he knew a lot more than what his tiny frame led on and though he could hardly pronounce his r’s and t’s he seems to have more command and knowledge over the situation. Sans let the sociopath command him.

They stepped out into the street, not at all surprised it was empty. After a fight monsters would scatter to avoid conflict and end up dusted. Sans takes a look around the city streets. He hadn't been here before, and notes the odd way the buildings lean out into the road and how the windows are all either broken or replaced by wooden boards.

“HERE!” Sans makes an ‘oof’ as the toddler practically slaps him in the chest. The slap isn't hard, a wool jacket acts a cushion to avoid him taking damage. Sans takes a look down and takes the jacket in his hand.

It's black on the outside with a white wool lining. On its arm is the symbol of the kingdom and all over it is the dark reddening color of marrow and freckled dust that clung to the wool. Sans stares in awe. This is his father's coat.

His eyes wander to the piles of dust the toddler is pillaging for a wallet and key. Paps stuffs jewelry into his pockets and only takes valuables that can be sold, it was as if this kind of life was already routine to him despite it being his first lvl up. 

Two adults at once….

His level must have skyrocketed. Sans only checked his hp, which had rose and would fill more when he got a decent meal. Sans blanks at the child… his brother. The words bring no comfort, only a wavering fear in his core. 

“Put it on!” Paps huffs, he is finally done kicking around dust and points at Sans to note his rags and shivering form. Sans obeys quickly… despite the wet soaked clothing sticking to his ribs, the wool is warm. No, the blood is warm and as gross as it is he appreciates it and zips up the jacket to his neck, much to the child's satisfaction. A smile spreads across that angular face and the child lets out a cheerful heckle of ‘nyeh heh heh’ before he trots through the dust and heads down the street to leave this awful place.

Sans lingers behind, following the toddler with a growing sense of horror. He’s seen death before but he’s never had to deal with it directly, much less have it swaddled around him as a permanent reminder.

The child runs back to him and grabs his hand, tugging at it ever so slightly for Sans to pick up the pace. “Mons’ers come t’rough here on daily rounds... “ The toddler sputters. “We needa get to my sta’shun!” Sans only dumbly nods his head and follows along as the child takes them through winding overlapping paths and ignores the main streets. 

He knows the back alleys better than sans.

At last they stop at a cardboard and plastic lemonade stand that looks like it's about to fall over, if not for the ridiculous amount of duct tape on it. The sign reads, sentry station- keep out! Sans would almost chuckle at the kids imagination… if not for the blood still dripping off the kids bones.

Paps pulls Sans into his cardboard box fortress and sits on the floor. Sans looks unsure about this, he peers over from over the top and notes that this place is still visible from the road.

“Hey… kid?”

“Boss!”

“Yeah.. boss sure, this isn't the p.p..place for make believe right now... okay?… I don't know if you know this… but its.. It's not okay to kill other monsters. Especially… especially him! Dad. He’s -”

“What do you mean? I’s kill or be killed isnt it? T’at's the rule mommy taught me.” More disturbing than his leveled tone is the fact he still calls ‘mommy’ affectionately. Paps starts to brush dirt apart from the floor and reveals a silver metal lunchbox hidden in the dirt.He unlocks it to check its contents. Inside are syringes and vials of a red liquid that bubble in its container, almost defying gravity. Sans raises a worried brow.

The child takes the lunchbox with him and stands up, beckoning Sans to his feet and makes another demand. “I’m tired… take me home.”

Tired? Sans would have found that adorable once but he doesn't let his mind wander. This monster doesn't have the patience for Sans to have a moment to himself and think about what the hell is going on. Even now Paps tuts his teeth, waiting for the other to respond.

“... Home is… all the way in sss...snowdin right? Thats… that's p..p..pretty far pal.”

“Boss.”

“Yeh, boss.” Sans nods his head quickly, sure to correct himself. The monster was deluding fantasy games with reality. Sans had to be careful, he knew there was no chance he could fight the toddler… even before the level up. 

“Not my home! Yours! Its nearby right?!”

Sans pales. He wanted to go to his shitty lil dirt home? He nods his head dumbly but wonders… how did the kid know where he lived?

How is this kid doing any of this? How did he kill the top most respected scientist, feared veteran, and his father. How did this child know about his existence and the branching path of the city alleys? What is in that lunchbox the child stored here? 

Why did Sans get the feeling this toddler was a lot more dangerous than the adults?


	4. Chapter 4

They walk the streets in silence, hurrying to avoid other monsters. They cross the bridge and walk in darkness through the mushroom caves, Paps insists that he knows his way without the glowing light from the spores. So Sans stumbles around in darkness until they end up in waterfall. They cross the bridge together and Sans carefully slides his heel along the side of the hill and jumps down into the valley below before edging his way behind the waterfall and into his home. 

Paps looks around, eyeing the mismatched decorations and sad excuse for a home, but says nothing. He shrugs off his bubbled coat and stays by the entry of the cave to cleanse himself of his kill, bathing with the water that roared over the cave mouth. Sans says nothing. He’s unsure what to do. He’s scared and this feeling of panic since hearing that first scream has never left him.

He sits on the ground and stares at a millipede that saunders throught the mud. Minutes pass... Then hours in silence. Sans spares a glance every now and then at the toddler who sits at the cave lip and kicks his legs into the water. He’s having fun like a normal child would when playing in puddles. Sans rolls his eyes and tries to get his soul to settle down by breathing deeply.  
He notes the child's weight on his lap suddenly. Sans hitches a breath at first, overcome by fear but as he realises the child is still he begins to calm. He raises his hand, unsure of himself, and rests it at the top of the toddler's head to pat him.  
He checks his status for a moment, assuring his health is rising with this nap. 

What was Sans going to do? Did he have to take care of a little brother now? A deranged monster who killed his parents wouldn’t last a day on his own and Sans barely had enough food for himself. This toddler who had killed for him and clung to him in his sleep was going to stay with him, whether sans liked it or not. He could just tell that the child was stubborn and wouldn’t listen to him even if he had begged him to leave him alone.

Funny… Sans had always wanted a family. And now he had one. He shouldn’t be so surprised his baby brother murdered another monster or two… that was common here. Of course it was natural for children to pick fights and … even level up. Sans had just never been part of that. He couldn’t win a fight and by all means he should already have been dusted along time ago. Seeing his parents like that shouldn’t be a surprise… it shouldn’t be a shock to see dust anymore… but…

Sans felt the cold slick blood, marrow, and dust harden his coat like a crust. 

The once warm an almost comforting blood coating the inner jacket is now cold, sticky and disgusting.It squelches between his bones and makes Sans want to puke. He should have rinsed himself in the falls like the other had, but he can't much move now. Not when his baby bro slash future murderer is asleep on him.

Yes, Sans is sure family means nothing to the peaceful little ball of bones wrapped in his lap. Bonds aren't important, they can be broken easily depending on the child's temperament. It was best not to cross Paps… er… tiny boss. At least until the child got bored of him.

Sans would be thrown out again… eventually. Just like he had been before. So until then he just had to bide his time… and try not to be dusted. 

He closed his eyes, but he couldn't sleep one wink that night.


	5. Chapter 5

In his lap the child stirs awake slowly, sleepy eyelights settle on Sans but they fizzle in and out as Paps lulls between sleep and consciousness. Sans gulps, opting to take the risk and break the morning silence. “G..good morning.” He tries his best not to stutter and to appease the other's ego, quickly remembers to tack onto his words. “Boss.” 

The child makes a hum in his throat, and snuggles deeper into the warm wool jacket. His tiny arms can barely reach around Sans but he endeavors to hug the other, eager for affection. Sans freezes momentarily, unsure what to do at first but lays a hand on the others scalp to pat him. Good psychopath. 

Though not by much, Sans prefered it if the child would sleep longer. Quiet and harmless, because when he looks at those swollen red eyes he only feels fear and guilt. 

“...-whuut tyme..izit?” The child murmurs into his coat and Sans has to do a double take to recognize the words. Once he has he pauses to think about it. He’s never much cared for time before. He would normally just start his day whenever he woke up. The artificial light in waterfall was much dimmer than in other districts, so day and night were only ever really distinguished by the routinely passing guardsmen on the bridge above. With the muted roaring of the waterfall so close by it was hard to hear from inside the cave if heavily armor clad pups were out on patrol. 

“I...dont… know?” Sans’ voice hitches just slightly. He waits with baited breath for the other’s response. 

“Useless.” The child mumbles, but they don’t move.

Sans lays still, shallow breaths leave his mouth. He stares down at the child… waiting… 

waiting… 

He listens for the other monsters breathing, willing the child to go back to sleep but the monster is still awake. Paps doesn't say anything and the silence is driving Sans mad. He doesn't know if he should try to get up and stretch his aching bones. He doesn't know if he should lie still here as the smaller monsters pillow. He wants to desperately peel the jacket from himself and scrub the marrow from his bones. He wants to sleep… he wants to curl up into a ball and grieve for his mom and dad. Bastards as they were… they were family. Family was home. … And now his kid brother was here, but there is no warmth of home. There is only constant paranoia and fear and Sans has no clue what the other wants with him or why he was pulled into the child's dangerous games and he-

“Stop shaking.” Paps scolds him. “What are ya? A baby bones?” He at last stands up, giving sans a small reprieve before he starts to rifle through Sans stuff. He finds something that catches his interest and gets on his knees to start to rip pages out of a textbook. 

Sans whimpers. His soul pangs with every horrible rip of the pages, it's the screams of his precious books. It's the screams of his inner mind reeling at the thought of his books, his dreams and aspirations, being torn to shreds. 

It was so hard to find decent books in the trash heaps… much less books he actually liked. He didn't have much…and what he did have he valued and kept them in good condition. His books on the solar system, his books on mechanical engineering, his books on the theory of quantum physics…. Nothing was safe from the child's grubby hands. Sans hitched a breath, unable to speak up and protect his babies. 

After a gut wrenching half hour passes, Paps proudly displays his work and calls Sans out of his stupor to look. Strips of paper line the floor like a maze. There is a particular rat nest of woven paper that the child has knotted into itself to form a crumpled bowl and another that looks like someone attempted to make an origami hat, but gave up halfway. Sans wonders if he can find a roll of tape and repair the pages. It could be fun… yes like a puzzle! Maybe he could save his-

“We are here.” Paps points at the misshapen bowl and outstretches his fingers to drag along the maze of scrap paper, dragging the torn pages deeper into the muddy earth below. Sans reflexively makes a small whine. 

“Tis over here is ‘de guard bar-acks… barracks! T’ey won’t bother us, but I want some’fing from inside.” Paps tries really hard to sound deep and intimidating despite his high pitched voice and mispronunciations. Sans tilts his head slightly to get a better look at the kid, noticing he’s missing a tooth. He’s still young for baby teeth to start to fall out, Sans rationalises it must have happened in a brawl. 

“What’s there? Boss?” Sans asks he looks over at the crude map on the floor. He is barely able to make out rooms. From the origin, the bowl… cave, he recognizes what would be the bridge connecting hotland and waterfall. The farm for snail racing is actually constructed from the planets’ orbit around the sun. The field of echo flowers is creepily replaced with cut out eyeballs and ears from the human models on the ads of a magazine. Along the river is a diagram of a penguin ingestive track, who he assumes is the river person only because of the profile being similar. 

“Dads keys for the lab. He’s not allowed to take t’em without signing in an’ out.” Paps stands up and brushes the dirt off his kneecaps. “I need to go home now. So look’it my map carefully and bring it back before my bedtime!” 

“Wha-”   
Paps glares. His bright red eyes turn on Sans at once and he catches the words in his throat. All protest is quieted in an instant. “Your a dirty t’eif… Thh.. Pttth… Theif! aren’t you? Shouldn’ be a problem!” Paps throws his arms out the either side and presumes dominance over this dirt hole home. “I bet you din’t buy a single one of this stuff! So you cant have it ITS MINE!”

Sans pales. 

“You can’t live here anymore! This is MY clubhouse. Papyrus ONLY. So ghet.. Get me the keys minion or else I’ll kick you out! Do we have a deal?!”

Sans looks down at the ‘map’, tries to decipher a bit more from the scraps of paper and looks back up at Paps who awaits his answer. Sans isn't entirely sure what to make out of this game. His brother wanted to play clubhouse or something? But he wants him to steal… and from the royal army headquarters no less… Sans does a double take. He doubts the kid can evict him from his home. As shit as it was, Sans lived here and he had nowhere else to go. It was stupid to think that this child could do such a thing. 

Then again…

His life was kind of hanging on a threat here, that's what this was right? Keys in exchange for peace? Why was it so damn important to get into dad's lab anyhow? 

Sans’ eyes wander over to the lunchbox on the floor. Oh. 

He didn't know why his little brother was hiding drugs and toting them around in a lunchbox… and he didn't want to know. He just wanted to go back asleep and live out the rest of his relative peace inside this small cavern and hope no one dusted him before his tenth birthday. 

“It's… a deal. Boss.” He agrees with a shaking tone. The toddler smiles at once. It looks genuine, even on that jarring toothy grin of his.

“Good! Don’ be late brother!” With that warning Paps siddles out of the cave and climbs back up onto the main road, leaving Sans in shocked silence. What the hell did he just accept? His eyes shoot to the map again but it's complete lunacy to think of these shapes as people or objects. He barely recognized waterfall but that's because he lived here! There was no way he could enter a highly surveillanced area, swarming with guards, and actually escape with his life right? This was a suicide mission, as lame as the stakes were this was a suicide mission!

It’s not like hee can walk up to the front door and politely ask for the keys… who the hell would listen to that nonsense? The armored pups don’t think, they don’t rationalize, they just...go on instinct. Sans has 1 hp. Just one. He’s weak. He’s easily manipulated, even by a child’s whims and no one would miss him if he dusted. Its no wonder why Paps would send him on this stupid task. He’s expendable. 

Sans is slow to move at first. He bides his time by taking a look at the makeshift map and his toes. He circles around it, trying to figure out the best way to make common sense out of this but anyway he looks at it, its a pile of ripped paper. 

He could only make out waterfall because he lived here, the weird landmarks of Hotland translated on crumpled paper doesn’t make an ounce of sense to him. He heaves a long sigh through his nasal cavity, allowing his shoulders to sag forward.

What kind of shit did he get himself into? 

Waterfall was a quiet place, despite it being the third most populated place in the underground. The only residents here were low lives, misfits. Monsters that were too poor to move into the city lived here, scavenged among the trash heaps for something interesting to sell. Or eat if they were desperate enough.

The residents here tried to avoid attention, they lurked in the shadows and waited for an opportunity to raise their lvl. Sans hated it here, if it weren’t for the roar of the falls this place would be so quiet you could hear a whimsun flutter its wings. Yet the falls offer great protection. Its the reason he made his home here to begin with. 

The roar of the falls masks his sleep terrors. The location is on the main road, but just out of the prying eyes of any monster. The only way someone would make their way to the edge of this cavern is if they were suicidal. There is nothing down here except sharp rocks and another garbage dump where monsters have already sifted through all the good stuff. No one bothered him. He was safe…

He stumbles out of his cave and rather than staying against the wall to keep dry he plunges head first into the sheet of water that acted as a curtain to his home. The cool water trickles inside his skull, pours over his sickly bones and mats his clothes heavily to his frame. He takes in a deep breath of air, his ribcage expands as he does so despite him having no lungs. 

He had to be calm. He had to think clearly. There had to be a reasonable way to do this.  
But no matter how he thought about it, that nagging paranoia resonated in his mind.   
He was going to die.


	6. Chapter 6

Its pitch black. Sans waves his hands in front of his face and can barely make out the pale color of bone from the dim lighting in the underground. He blinks his eyes into the darkness, trying to adjust his pupils to the waning light of early morning. Before he can even make out shapes in the dark he begins to climb his way uphill and heads towards hotland. 

He looks up at the ceiling, trying to guide his way by the small light of the stones that traced the path above. If not he’d have bumped into walls or fallen off of ledges. He doesn't know who exactly placed the stones on the ceiling but monsters had been trapped underground for ages. It could have been anyone, history was a thing that wasn’t recorded if not for glory. 

Some leaders had used magic to light the caverns or electricity generated from the core but Waterfall had always used glowing fungi, glowworms, and gemstones that decorated the roof of the cave. When Sans had first come here, hand and hand with his parents he had thought they were stars… how foolish of him.

These days Sans liked to believe that somewhere the light they catch is from above and each ray of light is bounced endlessly, reflecting reflections until the light made it down here. As dim as it was… it was the closest thing to sunlight and to escape. At least, thats how Sans wanted to think of it. His books had explained stars as giant burning balls of hydrogen and helium… there was no way such a thing could exist underground and not be used as a bomb.

Despite Sans interest in the rocks, to the other monsters underground it was just another natural phenomenon. Like where the water came from or how the trash ended up down here. Surely if someone followed it back they might find a different exit than the barrier… but no one had yet tried. Or maybe no one was actively searching for a way out. 

The thought always left Sans feeling unsettled. What if monsters were content with living and fighting and dying here forever?... 

Sans pushes his way forward towards Hotland. His eyes adjust to the light red glow here now. He looks down as he walks, soon the bluish black hue of soil begins to give way to red sands. His feet burn as he ventures deeper into the city, the granules absorb and retain the heat of the core. He makes an awkward hop to the asphalt but finds its no better here or there. His clothes that were once soaked to his core dry quickly in the heat and soon Sans finds himself panting for water. 

He spots a water cooler against one side of the road, but knows better than to trust obvious traps. He wipes off sweat on his brow and stops for a moment to look at the map on one big billboard. 

A giant yellow sticker displays ‘you are here’ but someone has crossed out the ‘are’ and replaced the words with ‘die’. Sans scoffs, he lets his tired eyes roll in his skull. Murder in the underground was one thing. Was common, but vandalism? That was stupid. There was no benefit in it, except to spread fear but that wasn’t the case now. The road was empty and many monsters hadn’t even started their day. Its safe right now, prime time to do this… if he had any chance to make it out in one piece. 

Sans blinks rapidly at the map trying to reread it again and focus his mind. He really should have slept… he feels as though he could topple over any moment. Or is that from dehydration? He wasn't sure, but he finds a key on the map that marks the barracks as a government zone in King Asgore’s protection, one of the Four Great Leaders. 

Sans does a retake of the map, finding it not at all similar to the one Paps made in a rushed hurry. For one thing, there are less landmarks on the hotland map. It wasn’t much of a tourist place, Sans supposes. Unless Fire, brimstone, and lava were something you wanted to see… but most monsters know better than to stand on the edge of the cliff and look down into the core. Without a doubt there would always be someone waiting to push you in. 

Sans shakes the thought out of his head. He hadn't been in Hotland before or seen a monster die in the lava pools, but he had heard horrible stories of monsters whose flesh would burn and melt right off their bodies before they even had the mercy of dusting. They died in torment… the worst way to go. 

It's too quiet here. Normally that would be a good sign, but the panic in his chest is starting to manifest its way towards paranoia. Sans looks around quickly, spinning on the ball of his foot, aware that the hot sands are grinding his heel raw. He raises his right hand above his head, summoning a bone construct and clutches it in both hands like a club. He holds it close to his chest, ready to swing out at any attackers. 

His eyes dart to any shadow and even to large stationary objects someone could hide behind. He had to stay on his toes. Just because he wasn't in the guard's headquarters did not mean that he could relax here, but it looked like he was just jumpy after all. With a sigh he dismisses the bone and turns around to face the sign again. He could be dusted anywhere by anyone. No one was a friend here…just Sans … he could only trust himself and he had to find a -

“Hiya!” A blue finned girl with striking red hair is sitting at the base of the sign board. 

Sans jumps back at once, his soul catches in his throat and he tries to resummon his bone again but the girl is faster. Already the air buzzes with her magic as a long spear is angled at his neck. 

“Don’t be rude, “ She tuts her teeth. “I didn’t insight a battle, drawing your magic without warning is a violation of the knights code of conduct! You must always announce yourself!” 

Sans doesn't move a bone, the whites of his pupils stare out at the sharpened spear end pointed at him. The blue magic weapon hovers just above his sternum and beneath his chin. He can’t even risk a breath or the movement might damage him. So he stays perfectly still and only moves his eyelights towards the monster on his right. 

The girl on the ground looks like she has made camp here for a while. At the base of the signpost is an umbrella that has been duct taped to stand and allow that one spot shade. A book rests in her lap and by her side are canteens of water and a bag of chisps. 

She gets up from her spot, placing a hair clip on one of the pages, and brushes the dirt off of her shorts. She’s tall, taller than Sans at least. Her skin is blue and her ears jut out from her skull as though they were wings. Sans spots the pair of gills at the base of her neck, not at all hidden since the monster wears a tanktop in this heat. Comparatively, Sans thinks he should have taken off the sweater weighing down his shoulders. Dressing lighter was something that should have been common sense in the sudden heat of Hotland. 

“... don’t be shy now, that spear won't kill you, just a little knick off your hp. So announce yourself! I’m prepared for anything you got! Bring it Punk!” 

She stares puts up her fists in a mock act of fighting.Her iris are yellow, the color of Justice. Sans gulps. He runs a check on her, looking for any weak spots. 

Undyne  
Hp 15/15  
Lvl-3  
Def-20 

“HEY!” She yells, her hands jerk to her chest and she pulls away instinctively. “Didn’t anyone teach you manners~~! Its rude to stare at a lady’s soul! Buy me dinner first asshole!”

Sans pales.

His eyes glance at the spear, it's become destabilized. if there were any time to escape it would be now. He takes a shallow step backward, then another. Then all at once he gathers his magic to the palm of his hand and starts to dash towards the sentry station. His magic condenses in his hand as he does. He hears her yell after him, her footsteps echo his own. He closes his eyes and bends his head down and runs as fast as his small legs can take him. 

He sees some things flit in and out of sight. A windmill, some hot air vents, weird cacti, and a monster made entirely of flame who waves welcomingly at him oddly enough. He runs past it all, until the air he gasps feels raspy in his throat and hurts his ribcage. 

He runs until he can’t run anymore and the echoing feet behind him fade into the distance. He runs until the heat crawling up his limbs spread to his neck and to his cheeks and he collapses on the side of a path and heaves for air. Sweat running down his pale bone and sticks to his clothes. He pulls at his shirt, fans it out to get some air circulating.

He takes a look around at his surroundings, not at all surprised to find himself lost. Every hall looked the same, every path had the same wear of sandy cliffs surrounded by lava. One wrong step and he could careen into certain death. Sans shrugs off the jacket and ties it around his waist, panting for air and water. He crumples to his side and hugs his center, the rise and fall of his chest hurts. It feels as though his ribs were bending outwards, desperately seeking air but never able to attain it. He feels sweat pool in the crevices between each vertebrae and in the base of his skull.

He managed to shake the monster …. Und… und..dime off his trail and he celebrates the small victory by letting a small chortle pass his aching ribs. A laugh passes his teeth, then another and before he knows it he’s laughing and crying and feeling so goddamn pathetic. He lies on the ground and stares at the impossibly high ceiling of Hotlands.

His history lessons had taught monsters that they had been sealed underground… but what if there was no such thing as the surface? Already the ceiling of the the cave reached dozens of meters high…. Could there be anything higher than that? Could there be life outside and a place where sunlight reached? Or…

Was this all there was? 

Was fighting and running and dieing all there was too life? Why had monsters evolved at all? If language could develop to form sophistication of culture and race then why, why still did this world revolve around the concept of prey and predator? For lvls? For power? What was power without freedom? They were all trapped down here. They were all going to die one way or another! Sans lets a sobbing wet chuckle drown him, he coughs up his spittle only to let out a low whine again. 

Everything was pointless. He was going to die here no matter what. He could live his entire life out by running and hiding and it wouldn't change the fact that one day he might get a damn paper cut and dust himself. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right! But this was his reality and it sucked. 

He coughs again, trying to roll over to his side to spit up. He hasn't eaten much these past two days. The only thing that comes up is the used magic that has been burnt up in his escape. The glowing molasses like mucus drips from his teeth, mixing with the sand below it and creating a sparkling muddy substance that reeked of sweat and fear. 

The heavy set of footsteps ring faintly in the distance. She was catching up. Sans had to move. He had to run. Or he had to fight. He had to stand his ground now or he was never going to survive down here. He had to strengthen his resolve and- 

The acidic taste of magic boils up from the pit of his soul and gags up into his throat he bends again to dispel the foul tasting liquid. He winces his eyes shut, wanting to cry and go home and sleep. 

“Hey!” The girl has caught up to him again, she doesn't appear out of breath in in the slightest. She’s even had time to pull her long curly hair into a ponytail. Sans steels himself. He tries to gather his magic for a third time. He had to fight. She was only level 3… with less health than his baby brother. Maybe he could do this. Maybe he could kill another monster. He just had to get the jump on her and surprise her with an attack. Yes, he could do this.

The footsteps stop in front of him. Sans stares out, his vision blurring at the red velcro sneakers in front of him. They appear to be decorated with markers and stickers, but that doesn't sway Sans. He cranes his neck upwards to look at the monster. His bone attack materialises behind her, it sways back and forth in the air, unstable. He’s never had to direct magic to form away from himself as a source but he saw the girl do it and hell he was a fast learner. He just needed one good hit. He needed to aim for that sweet spot, directly at her soul and-

“Why did you start running?” She laughs. “That's not how you play! You gotta announce yourself! I’m Undyne! My special attack is the spear of awesome. I’m still working on a name. How ‘bout you?”

Sans raises a non existent brow. That laugh sounded so genuine, not at all menacing… and play? No... it's a trick, definitely a trick. Monsters will use all kind of sweet talk and confusing methods to gain another's favor before they stab you at your most vulnerable. He had to attack. He gulped dryly and steadies his bone attack to strike. 

“Woah…. Did you get sick pal? You okay?” She bends to a knee, conveniently out of the path of the bone that soars above her head. She barely notices, she's too busy rifling through her satchel and she pulls out a canteen that sloshes around with that faint sound of water. “Here, drink a bit, you’ll feel better.” She sits on the ground opposite Sans, arm extended offering the water bottle kindly. 

Sans blinks rapidly, trying to fight the lull of sleep and tiredness from his bones. He had to be aware and ready. This had to be a trap. This had to be… right? There’s no way a monster could be nice. That didn't exist. Its never existed. No one was ever nice to Sans. He’s always been a bother. He’s always been in the way. The water is poisoned. It has to be. 

Sans tries to back away. He had to get up and run again. Those yellow irises of her’s screamed of danger, even if her toothy smile was kind she had a lvl of 3. She had killed before. Monsters that have killed before, find it easy to kill again. 

She knows how to kill. She can do it again. 

She was luring Sans. This was a trap. It had to be, it had to be. He was going to die. This monster was going to kill him. The water was poisoned. She was going to kill him. It was a trap. A trap . It had to be a lie. It had to be a-

“Woah! Calm down there, pal… you're shaking! Are you hurt? Are you mute?” She rests the back of her palm on his forehead, but Sans only flinches at the touch. He had only closed his eyes for one moment and already the other monster had crossed his personal space. He was in danger. She just proved she could touch him at anytime. If there had been intent in that action. Would he have died just now? Would he have felt the pain or would it just end? Sans didn't even realise he was crying again. He wanted to go home. He hated this world. He hated being weak. He hated himself.

“You’re burning up… Is there someone I can call? Do you have a phone?” 

Sans shakes his head. He had no one. No one cared anyhow. Fuck this world. Fuck this life. So what if this monster killed him. Was it wrong to be hopeful? Was it wrong to want a little kindness from a stranger? Who cares if he got himself dusted? What was the point in even staying alive. At the very least she can entertain him, humor his selfish need for attention before she takes his life. At least then he can rest at fucking last. Maybe then the churning gross feeling in his soul will stop. He’d never have to be paranoid again. Never have to wake up to the screaming nightmares where he would feel phantom pains in his ribcage and for some reason fear that sickly color of yellow that was also reflected in this monster's eyes. Something was bad about yellow things. Something was bad about creatures that smiled so fakely. 

Sans brings a sleeve to wipe at his face and rubs the snot leaking from his nose into the collar of his shirt. The monster opposite him is patient enough. She still holds out the cannister with a friendly, if not awkward and hesitant, smile. Sans reaches for it. His magic is exhausted. He can’t even fight back at this range. If she wanted him dead, this would be an easy victory. Sans closes his eyes and squeezes them tight. He doesn't want to see his end.

He brings the cannister to his upper lip and gulps down the offered water. It tastes metallic but it's cold and parches his dry throat. Sans bows his head again. Heaving a breath. Glad for the kind offer before he is killed. He waits for the attack. 

And waits. 

And waits….

…

He winces open an eye, half afraid that the moment he does he’ll be faced with the sight of spears lunging at him, but it's just the girl, sitting patiently with her legs on either side of her. Her wide eyes take in everything sans is doing. She offers a smile when they share eye contact. 

“Better?” She asks? 

Sans nods dumbly. 

“Good!” She extends her hand out. Sans hands her the water, but she just shakes her head. Her other hand reaches for his wrist and she pulls his hand into hers. “It's a handshake silly, see? This is how adults meet each other. And the guard do this!” She slams a fist against the left side of her chest. The slap of skin on skin is sharp and Sans swears the girl has just bruised herself in her enthusiasm, though she shows no sign of pain. 

After she doesn't move for a moment, Sans figures he has to parrot the gesture for her approval. He clenches his hand into a fist and lays it flat against his left ribs. Underneath his shirt he feels the thump of his soul, trembling. He doesn’t know what he should do… but the action makes the girl smile. 

“Mhm! Just like that! But you gotta smack it! The harder you hit the stronger your allegiance to the cause!” Sans doesn't really get it, but he nods his head anyway. “So… you got a name tag or something?”

He takes a deep breath, wondering if he should let down his guard and talk to this monster as something other than an enemy. It takes him a while, but his soul slowly starts to calm.

“... I’m Sans.” He whispers, much to the delight of Undyne. She beams happily upon hearing his voice. 

“Sans.” She says, her smile is fake this time. At once Sans flinches backward, guard raised again as she raises her hand against him but it's too late. He feels the flat of her palm smack the right side of his cheek. It hurts, in its wake is the hot red stinging sensation on his cheek. Sans gulps dryly, his pupils disappear. He’d just been hit. He’d just been attacked, the pain still lingered on his bone, the pain throbbed across his jaw. Was he about to die? 

“How dare you peek on my stats! Mom always said you only check a monster if your gonna fuck em or fight em! You better apologize right now!” 

Slowly Sans focuses his eyes again, he stares down at his hands and raises a shaking palm to his cheek. The tactile sensation of her hand still lingers on his jaw. He’d been hit and he didnt dust. What the…

“Well? Apologize!” 

“I’m … sorry?” He responds robotically. His mind is reeling at this revelation. All this time he thought he would die from essentially stubbing his toe. He only had one life point. He’s never been struck by another monster before. He always managed to escape. So what was that…

He stares out at Undyne. 

“How did you hit me!?”

“What? I hit you because you're a little perve! You shouldn't check a monsters-”

“No!” Sans interjects. “Not why! How! How did you hit me? Why didn't I dust?”

“It's just a lil tap, stop being dramatic.” 

“I’m serious!” Sans points at his chest. “Check me. Check me, that's fair right?” 

“That's really personal Sans! I’m trying to tell you its a bad thing to do to a monster! You only check a monster when your sizing them up to either start a fight or mate…. And frankly pal I don't want to do either with you.”

“Just check!” 

“Jeez… Just to be even!”

The air in Hotland is stale and suffocating. The lava that boils up from the cavern below served to keep energy pumping all throughout the underground. Before then, only 15 years ago, districts had been ruled by powerful monsters who became leaders of the underground. Each one led their own group into wars with other factions. They would fight over resources and space… 

Undynes eyes shift from Sans status to his eyes. 

When Dr. Gaster created the core, light finally filled the underground. Energy could produce food, mass manufacture weapons and materials for shelter… The population boomed and couples would bare children. The rival leaders went quiet, each agreeing to keep to their own section of the underground.

Her mouth drops open, she is unable to think of a reasonable explanation. 

A rule had been passed not to interfere with the growing of children… but still it was the easiest way to earn lvls. Whores had come and gone, the guise of miscarriages became common and oddly… though the population never increased, it did not decrease, yet monsters would gain higher and higher levels. The king oversaw this and removed the law on killing children.   
Everyone was fair game. 

Undyne bites her lip. Her eyes grow wide, doubling in size and she backs up. Her hand covers her mouth in shock. Sans hears her mumble weakly and apology. 

“Oh merciful Asgore, I didn’t know! Are you okay!? I can’t believe I knocked it all the way to one! I know I’m strong but I didn't think-...”

Sans waves his hands frantically. “No.. no Undyne! It's not your fault. T… this is my full health.” 

“A measly One!? You’ll get knocked out in one punch, man?”

Sans nods his head slowly. His mind is reeling. Undyne doesn't know what happened. He doesn't know why he’s still alive. Is there something more to life than just stats? Did he have a chance of … surviving in this hell? 

He gets to a knee and tries to stand. He still feels wobbly, his magic hasn't returned fully but he knows that he is running out of time. He still has to try. He still has some hope left. 

Maybe he can do this. 

Maybe if he gets the keys to his little brother, he can show his worth. Maybe he really can have a family. Maybe it's okay to be afraid of his little brother. Maybe it's okay to still want a pat on the head and a warm hug from someone who wants to sleep in his arms. Paps was desperate for touch too. Their parents had deprived them both of love. 

“T.. thank you Undyne.”

“For what?...”

“...for… ya know… not… dusting... “ Sans begins to mumble. It seems weird to thank a monster for not ending him. This was the first time a monster had actually done anything nice to him. Well, other than murdering his family for some inane reason. 

“I didnt mean to! If I had known you were…” she bites her lip. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t think. Mom always said I should use my words and not my fists but she’s never suplexed a dummy before… so what does she know?”

“Heh... Family right?” He laughs hollowly. He had to do this. To preserve what little family he could. “Undyne… would you happen to know where the royal guard barracks are?”


	7. Chapter 7

“Get up.” 

There is little warning before a swift kick collides with his ribs. Sans jerks forward into the obtrusion, his hands instinctively grab at the foreign object and he bends his head low as the other boot juts down onto his skull. He blearily comes to realise its morning. The ache of wounds that had started to ebb away in sleep return again, with a forceful sting that begged attention. Needle pricks of nerve endings and splintered bones make him groan into the morning with a half cough. His head aches, throbs in ways that he can only assume is because the heel of a boot is still grinding into the soft part of his lower lobe. 

Conscious now, he releases his tight grip on his brother's heel. He stumbles back, apologetic and fearful. He dares not look into the others eyes. His tiny pinpricks of eyes only stare outward at the red heels his boss wore. 

“Your dinner is cold.” The boss snarls. His right foot taps on the floor impatiently. Sans hurries to his knees and lowers his head again until his forehead kisses the ground. 

“I’m ss.sssory boss!” He stammers. He lifts his eyes only slightly from the floor to look at the red boot in front of him. The boss has stopped tapping. Either he was going to stomp on him again or he was thinking. That was equally as dangerous. 

“Didn’t I tell you not to leave the house?” 

Did he leave the house? He can’t remember. One minute he was with Undyne in Hotland and the next… wait. Where is he? Who is he? Sans lifts his head and looks around. He’s in a bedroom he’s never seen before. But… he knows its his. Every article in the room is something he has amassed over the years, clothing, books, even the dents in the walls have a inkling of some memory attached to them. 

He looks back up towards boss. Who the hell was boss? Why the hell was that in his memory? He stares up at the tall skeleton that looms above him. Gaster.

Dad? 

No, it can’t be. Dad was killed… his younger brother had dusted him and gained those levels. Something screams inside of him as he stares up at the angular teeth and the black clad skeleton who towers above. The monster is impatient. His fingers drum anxiously on his hips as he awaits an answer.

“Well? Nothing to say for yourself Sans?! I should have known! You spend all night drinking and then you come back home with ash on your clothes and alcohol on your breath…” The creatures eyes go hollow, the red lights that had filled the skull suddenly disappear into a veil of black. Sans recognizes the face, the high cheekbones and the surprisingly deep voice were knew but this was his brother. Every fiber of his body was telling him that. Every memory was pointing to the fact they had grown up together. That he had protected him and hurt him and now they lived here in Snowdin. 

The boss takes a step forward and out of reflex, Sans steps back. His body shakes without him knowing why. His head hurts so much and now he tastes the waxy substance on his teeth. He exhales the smoky fragrance of liquor and feels it still burn his throat when he swallowed nervously. Had he been drinking? He’d never picked up a bottle in his life, adults paid alot of money for juice that wasn’t even sweet…. He had never saw the need for it but now his whole being feels like he needs the liquid to survive. A thirst starts in the pit of his jaw and pangs the side of his eardrum. He wants to drink. He wants to fall asleep where he fell and just drown in a bottle of whisky. 

Papyrus stops in front of him. He kneels in front of his brother. Red gloved hands extend towards him. The gloves were something of a barrier, a protection against the sharpened claws beneath the layer of leather, but even the gloves themselves appear to be pointed and menacing. Sans flinches as those hands extend towards him. 

And pull his head into his brother's chest. 

Sans hitches a breath. He smells the Underground in the others clothes, it smells of brimstone from Hotlands and the damp mold of Waterfall and the rustic ruins of new home. The clothes bare the symbol of the royal guard on a patch but the skeleton isn't clad in armor of anytype. The clothes offer no protection at all from the cold nor the intent of another killer. The only thing close to it would be the tattered red scarf the skeleton wears around his neck. Where had Sans seen that before? His mind feels fuzzy. 

The claws on the back of his skull press deeper into the other's warmth. Sans closes his eyes, for a minute, calm. He hears the steady pulse of the monsters soul, slow, and rhythmic. It reminds him of being in his mother's arms and listening to her sweet song as he was rocked gently to sleep. 

“I love you.” A faint whisper crosses him. Sans opens his eyes again, he stares out into the others chest and listens for the words again. “I love you Sans. ...Why do you whore yourself out to them… I can pay for us. I can make it better! I hate waiting here… wondering if you'll ever come home and dinner just gets colder… I stare for hours at the front door and you’ve already teleported upstairs… and you're drunk and a mess! And you idiot! You’re pathetic! And I hate you…” 

Sans stares at the red scarf. What does he say? How does he fix this. He had no idea what was going on… this was his brother… but it wasn't he was older and… crying.

“Nothing to say for yourself!?” The claws push him deeper into the other's shirt. This time its not comforting. It feels like he’s suffocating. Behind him he feels the hum of magic in the air. “ I told you brother… stay home… now I’ll have to make sure you can never run off again. Wont I?” 

Sans lets out a piercing cry. An agonizing throbbing stings his right femur and runs up his spine. He wails again, his head pushed into the others chest to muffle the abrupt scream. Sans flails his arms, he tries to back away but he can't. He arches his back up as an arduous sensation fills his sensitive bones. His right leg has been run through with a magic bone. The hot pulse of magic still throbs inside the wound. The weapon hasn’t been dismissed, instead it twists inside of him. Sans yells out, spittle filling his jaw and he cries into the other. He’s too weak to push away so he grinds his hands into the others clothing and leans into him. 

“You’re only mine.” Papyrus whispers. “ You won't run off again now, will you?” His voice is so sweet, so charismatic, and yet he twists that bone inside of Sans and he can feel it splintering and snapping his calloused bones. He drags the sharp edge of it down, wedges it between two plates and with just his index finger is able to pry the two apart with his makeshift fulcrum. 

Sans twitches in place. He nods his head adamantly but he has no idea why. He has no idea why this is happening or why he is here or what is going on or-

“Here we are!” Undyne turns around and waves her arms emphatically at the large building on the edge of a cliff. Sans looks down into this trembling hands. His knee feels numb and his body feels hot suddenly. He snaps his neck left and right, wincing as whiplash pinches a nerve in his neck but he doesn't care. He looks around, trying desperately to familiarize himself with where this is. 

This… now. 

“We’re… in Hotland?” He asks himself. He almost doesn't believe it. Everything about that daydream felt so real.

“Yup.” Undyne flips her hair onto a shoulder. “Most of the guards live in either Snowdin or New Home, Hotland serves as a midpoint between the two.” 

“Uhuh…” Sans nods his head… but he can’t focus on her. He kicks his leg out beneath him, trying to get a sense of the illusion that just passed him. His leg is there. Its real. But … so was the dream. 

The memories of the home in Snowdin are gone, like something on the tip of his tongue he wants to say but it feels intangible and far away and after a few minutes… he can’t even remember all the details. Just that Paps was so tall and menacing and maimed him… and that Sans… Sans had drunk. Still drunk. Still tasted the liquor in his mouth like it had been real.

“Hey, you okay there Sans?” Undyne tries to lay a hand on his shoulder but Sans instinctively shrugs back. Only a moment later he realises she had no intention to hurt him. He nods his head again, his throat feels parched, feels numb, but he forces himself to say something. 

“Yeah…. Yes. I’m fine. Undyne.” His feet feel wobbly beneath him but he starts to walk to the front doors of the gate. He ignores the daydream for the moment. Whether it was real or not he had to get those keys for his brother.


	8. Chapter 8

In the small town of Snowdin, where the roads had been covered in a sheet of ice and dust, and the friendly smiles of bystanders turn malice when out of public, a small skeleton skips the street happily. Paps sings a loud song of nonsense lyrics. He swings a stick in one hand and with the other extended, keeps his balance on a stone fence. The child's teeth chatter in the cold. His breath, while singing escapes through his teeth even when his mouth is closed, making jailbar patterns in the bitter air. 

The monsters in the neighborhood do not question while the child is walking home alone today. His father had staked a grim reputation in the neighborhood, opposing his kin would be the same as death. And so they greet the child, calling him sweet names and greeting him so kindly with their faked enthusiasm. The snow bunnies, who own the local inn, wave him nearby and offer the child a lollipop. Monsters tip their hat at him when he approaches and those that cannot, remove their head respectfully. The spiders that have strayed from the path and sit by a torch to warm up, descend from their webbing to get a good look at the monster. The dogs, who run patrol, kindly grit their teeth and refrain from their carnal instincts to take a bit out of the monster made only of bones. 

Paps is hyper-aware of all of them… the treatment he gets, the fake smiles, the slight shift of eyes and gossip that only reappear when they think he’s out of earshot…. It sickens him. Not because he hated that, no. In truth Papyrus beams happily as he casually skips across stones and jumps over cracks in the road, he is glad no one even thinks of attacking him. It resembles an unspoken wall of power. They cannot touch him. 

So he takes his time. Admiring the snow poffs, skimming the icy shore for rocks and shells, making up puzzles in the snow with only a stick in his hand… but deep down he feels that indescribable weight of his father. 

They only avoid him because of his father. 

They only are nice to him because of his father. 

They hide their intentions because of his father. 

… 

He had killed the man. He was stronger. He always had been. Dad raised him to be the strongest. Dad made sure that he was the smartest. Yet, no one would look at Papyrus as himself. It was always… ‘the doctor's son’. Or ‘that skeleton’s kid’. He had heard whispers of ‘the one they kept.’ and ‘the good child’. A year ago… he didn't understand that… 

He hated not knowing. 

It was like the entire town had a secret and he didn't know about the secret. He wanted to know. And the townspeople wouldn't tell him. It was unfair. Why couldn’t he know? Why wouldn’t they let him play too? 

But… It's okay if he didn't know. Yes, It was like another puzzle. A mystery only the great Papyrus could solve!

He searched the lab for clues. For anything that stood out of place. He went to the library or ‘librarby’ as the rustic sign proudly displayed above the entrance, and looked up information regarding the core, his father's research, and monster kind. The basics had already been drilled into him. His father had taught him in place of a school. He constantly spoke bad of the public school system and mocked the arrogance of the private schools. He could have easily gotten his son accepted into the best school in the underground… but Gaster always preferred to have a hand in his own projects. Trusting an incompetent employee to do the same could erase weeks of work and time was precious. He couldn't afford another failure. 

When Papyrus found out about a brother, it was as if he just found out all the puzzle pieces he had been staring at for weeks were turned over the wrong way. That he had been staring at only the back of cardboard pieces when in fact there was a bigger picture on the other side. Now that he had a start he could piece together small bits, corners of information. And from that, guess the full image. He could conclude things that weren't there before and actively search for clues now that he knew what his target was. 

It began with maps. 

It was difficult at first to find a map of the underground. Most of the ones displayed in the library were only about the surface. They were archived human books that had been thrown down into the underground, disregarded as trash. The places on the surface looked interesting. Depicting beaches, stars, valleys, deserts, and stretches of ocean so wide that papyrus had a hard time believing the illustrator didn't just give up halfway coloring. But it wasn't what he was looking for. 

The underground had always been a place where levels were valued above all else. When the end of the monster human war had sealed them below, only the strongest could survive. Those with a sharp sense of smell were the first to find food. Those who had eyes that could see in the dark were the best at finding shelter. But above all… those monsters who had claws to attack and a blind vengeance for losing the war… were the ones who got to keep those resources. Monsters would use fire magic and the glow of spores to illuminate the way, but it wasn’t until Dr. Gaster developed the core that monsters had somewhat settled into a calm. 

Now everyone could see. 

Homes were built, streets were paved, people worked, and money was made to remove the limitations between the strong and the weak. Now even the simple froggit could afford a crumb of bread without putting its life on the line for every meal. Monsters struggled less. They had time for recreation. Reading, cooking, education, even cartology became available. Finding a monster who could do that though… Papyrus secretly came to search for maps not only of the Underground but of the various tunnels the layouts of homes and blueprints of buildings. Labyrinths worked within his mind. He drew them on scraps of paper he had, he imagined himself in invisible mazes and worked himself around each part of the underground until it was committed to memory. 

Papyrus sits on the front steps of the porch, waiting. He unwraps the lolipop and brings it to his mouth but, disgusted by its sweetness, spits it out a moment later and crushes it under his snow boots. The sugared orb cracks under his weight, but Paps isn't satisfied until he’s ground it into fine dust with his heels. Crushing a skull might be as easy. 

He doesn't know what time it is. He has spent a lot of time wandering outside playing… but now he is just bored. He wants Sans to return. A thought crosses him that the monster might have bit the dust but he pushes it aside. This person was his older brother, at least… that's what the records said. Paps never bothered to ask his mom and dad… most likely they would lie to him. It's for his own good. They do it to protect him. They love him. All lies. 

Papyrus looks down the road, expecting the crossing monster to be Sans but instead he only looks up in disappointment as he recognizes another adult. He remembers… when he was little. Before the transfusions had started… or perhaps they were in progress since before he was born… But he remembers the sight of a skeleton… not his mother's tentative smile. Not his father's calloused and hollowed hands… but the short timid expression of a monster who was afraid. 

Unlike the thousands of times he’d seen the expression of fear. This wasn't out of self-preservation. The monster wasn’t scared for his own life. He wasn’t scared of Papy. Rather… he was scared of himself. Scared of his own mind and what he had become. Something in that expression was unshakeable to Papyrus. 

He’d never seen that look before.

Dad had taught him this world ran on hate. To kill and be killed was a cycle of life and that to survive you had to assure you were the strongest either mentally or physically. He kicks his feet out and looks down at the grated sugar on the ground. It wasn't enough. He wanted more. 

But-

He can’t. He has to wait for Sans. 

Starting trouble would be a bad idea. It doesn't coincide with his plans… and it makes retreating to his empty home pointless if they knew he killed his father. He holds both his arms into himself, shaking slightly from both the cold and the anticipation in his bones. His first fight. It wasn’t enough. It was too simple to take the two by surprise. 

Mom wasn’t a threat. It was Dad who he had to deal with first. He did so quickly, a single bone through the back of the skull, striking his lobe in a way that would disable his magic were he still alive. He had thought he could deal with his mother quickly, but she had screamed before he could turn his blade on her.

...It didn't matter anyhow. She was never there for him. He could barely remember her face. But his father… he knew that face well. Too well. 

The sound of ragged footsteps approaches the house. Since his home in Snowdin was the last one on the block, only facing the bridge, it didn't take much of a guess to figure out that his brother returned. Papyrus lets a smile cross his face. He knew the other could do it! If he had dusted from this he probably wasn't even worth his time. But this was proof!

He gets up from the patio and runs, excited to see Sans but he stops in his tracks. His boots skid slightly on the ice, and he only barely stops himself from toppling by waving his hands out in front of him. The smile drops from his face. 

“I.. got it. boss.”

Sans stares at him, goofy smile on his face as he holds the key up triumphantly. His right shoulder is bleeding. His face is bruised. One tooth of his is missing completely. He shivers in the cold… for some reason his winter coat is tied around his waist, exposing the ripped shirt and his cracked ribs that stab through the fabric. He collapses right there. Red marrow and blood seep into the snow, melting it fast, creating soft hues of pink against the pure color. 

Papyrus runs to his side and does a quick scan of his health. Stable. Good. He grabs the other's hand and tries to drag him inside. Its only twenty feet or so… right? He can make it. He begins to pull when he hears the snap of bone disconnecting from its joint. He stares at the useless appendage in his hand and quickly double-checks the other's health. He had to get him out of this cold… but how can he move him?

Papyrus runs to the shed.


	9. He did the Monster Mash-potatoes.

Outside in the frozen wasteland of Snowdin Sans lies unconscious, face down in a pile of melting snow that only reddens as his own blood and marrow drains from his wounds. The biting wind and cold were enough to make a monster's health lower. Without protection, a monster could get horribly sick. The snow, the wind, the chill of Snowdin was produced by the magic that sustained the area's habitat. Even if there was no intent of attack the generated weather could still seep into his bones and make him ill. 

But that wasn’t on Papyrus’ mind. Far from it. 

First comes the simple task of getting his big brother out of the way. Before the chill of winter could be addressed, he had to rein in the threat of monsters. He had to move him before the scent of blood attracted the dogs or worse.

Any sign of weakness was like waving a big sign ‘free exp!’ above a monsters head, finding a half-dead skeleton in the snow was sure to top someone's day. Paps looks around the shed. There are chains against the walls, shovels, bags of salt, some tools that looked painful to touch, yet fun to play with. There was a corner of crud for construction, paint cans and planks of wood, probably left over from when Gaster had built the house. Paps ignores all of it and grabs his plastic sled. 

He runs outside with the giant object nearly twice his side, swinging awkwardly over his head. The hunky piece of red plastic is thrown down next to Sans as Papyrus draws his magic into his hands. He stands his ground, quickly looking around for any monster that might be lurking in the woods. Luckily no one has caught on yet. 

The four-year-old gets down on his knees and tries to roll Sans over onto the sled. It's difficult, even though the other monster is larger than him, he’s also frail. His whole arm had come off when Paps tried to drag him, trying to use brute force to get him in the house would be a wasted effort. He couldn’t carry him anyhow. 

He shuffles him onto the toy and pushes it towards the house. One step at a time. The snow hadn’t been all that deep yet Paps found his feet were sinking deeper and deeper into the snow beneath him. Failing to get traction. 

He tries from the front. His mittens grab onto the tiny piece of twine that loop a knot around the front of the sled and he tries to pull from there. Even worse results. 

“Sans!” Papyrus yells. He tries to get the other monster's attention. From the corner of his eye, he spots the dismembered arm he had pulled off. The child picks it up and throws it on top of his brother. “Sans! Wake up!” 

His orders go unheard, but Papyrus already knows it was futile to ask such a thing.

He drops the rope and stands tall. This was a problem. 

There does not appear to be any monsters who have noticed yet. There are the snow bunny pair out on their walk, but they’re path strays away from the Doctor's home. The only people who usually cross their yard are the dogs on patrol and that would definitely be a bad idea for them to see Sans. It looks like they had already fought and judging by his older brother's current level, he spared witnesses. With the sour luck his brother brings, there were probably monsters already chasing him.   
He gets back around the sled and pushes it again, inching it closer and closer to the stairs. When they finally hit the porch, Papyrus finds relief in the flat smooth surface to push the monster up the top three stairs and holds him there while he unlocks the front door. 

The warmth of an oak fireplace washes over him at once, the wind pressure nearly blows off his hat. The newfound warmth makes him shiver, he hadn't realized how cold he actually was until the full warmth of the inside of the hose enveloped him. He quickly pulls the sled and Sans inside and shuts the door, abandoning them at the entrance to run to the kitchen. 

The home is very still. In the living room, his father's slippers remain by the sofa. The television is on, partly because the remote has always been lost and that their father likes to have the news on at all times. A robe is hung over the right side of the sofa, glass rings are still moist on the coffee table. 

The stairs are littered with toys. Small fleeting interests that Papyrus has placed around the house only as a ruse. Although he does have a favorite stuffed animal, a small bear that guards the top of the stairs with pure black button eyes. 

In the kitchen, where Papyrus rummages for a first aid kit, the sink is still filled with breakfast dishes. The mother's apron hangs on a hook. The scent of pancakes still fills the room.

The house was once lived in. Once full of life. Once full of family. 

Papyrus runs back with the first aid kit, a tupperware full of leftovers and a spoon, plopping down beside Sans at once. For once the cool look Paps maintained is broken. As he overlooks his big brother he sees the complete damage done here and has no idea where to start or where to even put the bandages. Breaking monsters was easy… something he’d seen a million times. Fixing though… that was out of his expertise. 

He starts small. He leans over the other's body and grabs the loose arm. Once when he had snapped his arm off, his father had bent down quietly and made green magic grow from his fingertips. The limb attached itself easily. Paps let out a huff. He should have asked what that power was. He should have stuck to his plans. It was too soon to kill those two off… but it was okay. It would be okay so long as he could revive his brother. 

He doesn’t have the practice or knowledge of healing magic so he binds the limb into the joint with some excessive force of pushing until he hears a sickening pop of the joint snapping back in place. Sans doesn’t even stir. He’s far too out of it to feel that, but it sickens Papyrus. The sound sends shivers through his spine.

He quickly grabs some bandage and awkwardly, excessively, wraps the entire arm. With that done, he looks at the main problem, his cracked ribs. Papyrus has no idea where the other halves are. Three look to be broken, but they're only from his false ribs. A side swipe must have crushed all three on his left at once. The top two ribs are still intact. As Papyrus rubs away the blood and marrow he can see only small fractures on their surface. The third rib has been snapped off. There was no telling where the other half might be. 

It was pointless to obsess over them. So Papyrus does the only thing he knows how to do. Hurt. 

\---

There is a cold wet feeling seeping into his bones that Sans abhors. Even before he opens his eyes he feels distressed. He tosses in his sleep, trying to get away from the sensation by lulling deeper into sleep but he’s already awake. Rolling only sends a curt pain through his bones, his wounds reopening. 

“You’re awake. Good.” He hears the child's voice and a moment later the toddler's clammy hands pat his forehead, praising him for a job well done. “ You did great brother, sleep longer.” It takes a moment for Sans to register what was well done but he lavishes in the touch, his mind slowly starts to unravel from the fog of sleep. 

He was in Hotland, with a monster named Undyne. They had gone inside together, but they got split up… A dog had chased him. They ran through hallways. Lots of hallways. A labyrinth of sharp turns and dead ends. He grabbed every key from the hooks. Turning them over as he ran, looking for the nametag of Gaster assigned to one of them. Leaving a trail of keys behind him… not the smartest idea. But he was already being chased. The dog lunged for him and smacked him against a wall… but then there was a bright light? 

Sans raises a hand to his throbbing head. He can’t remember much. His arm hurts too now. He looks down at it, confused at the sight of his arm being bound like a mummy. But the pain is nothing compared to what is in his chest. 

What was in his chest? 

Sans looks down at himself, seeing the drip of an IV wire pinned to his soul. He traces the curved tube out and around himself to where Papyrus held up the other end, a plastic baggie filled with… something that wasn’t liquid or medicine. 

“Mashed potatoes.” Papyrus smiles. 

“What?”

“It’s mashed potatoes.” He beams again proudly. “You couldn't eat anything to raise your health… so I injected you with mashed potatoes.” 

Sans shivers. He feels the wet drip of his swollen soul, quiver like a sponge. Its clearly trying to reject the food. The red and pink soul shrinks and expands, trying to process the drip of foreign food running through it. Sans shudders. It's cold and gelatinous. 

He looks around himself, recognizing his old home. He almost panics, afraid of Dad finding him before a firm, but tiny, hand is placed on his chest. 

“Don’t move.” Papyrus’ eyes fill red. Its not a command of concern, but a threat. 

Sans lies still, slowly leaning back to let his head rest again. He stares up at the ceiling and nods his head slightly. He’s the older of the two, but he doesn't allow himself to forget who is the stronger monster here. The child was fickle. Here he was, threatening to kill the very patient he is still trying to save. It makes no sense. But that's how Papyrus thought and that was why he was dangerous. 

He stares at the roof of their house. There isn’t much up there, just rafters and dust. He can see the bedrooms from the stairs. One was his room, the other his parents. Further, at the end of the hall, there was a supply closet and the bathroom. 

Papyrus follows his gaze up. 

“They’re gone you know.” He whispers. “They won’t hurt you, again.”   
Sans knows that. He saw their dust, he saw his brother's level raise. It had only been this morning, yet between his fits of unrest, fighting for his life, and however long he remained unconscious, it felt like days. No. It felt like years. That weird daydream he had made this moment feel so far away. Like it had already happened. Like maybe none of this was real. Like maybe the real him wasn’t him. 

“Brother?” Papyrus’ head blocks his sight of the roof. The child’s wide eyes try to discern if Sans is still conscious. Upon seeing the others quivering eyelights, Paps smiles. “Good. Did you hear what I said?” 

“They’re gone. They won’t hurt-” Sans stops. His eyes sockets grow black. “... me… again. Paps… why do you-”

“Boss.” The child demands, he can’t move or stomp his foot from his position so instead his grip tightens, the bag he holds overflows in both directions. Mashed potatoes fly out from the opening in the top and gush through his IV quicker. Sans spasms, the sickly sensation of pre-chewed cold mush fills his soul like a film of puss. He feels like gagging. It takes everything in him not to reach out and yank the Iv right out. That might only make the child more upset. 

“Boss! Boss!” Sans yells out, giving in although a bit too late. The pressure stops but he still feels drained, his soul feels engorged like an overly inflated balloon and the pressure doesn’t stop. 

“Yes, brother? What is it?” The deceivingly sweet voice returns but Sans is already aware of the child's madness. He won’t be fooled again into thinking that sweet voice was anything akin to concern. He gets to the point, drawing a breath from somewhere in his gut to gather his courage. 

“Boss. How do you know…” How does he phrase this? It sounds so pathetic and he doesn’t want to get into details. He keeps his words simple. “ That I was ‘hurt’ before?”

“That Mommy and Daddy hurt you?” Papyrus blinks, his shallow red eyes are curious. The question doesn’t make sense to him. To him, it was the most natural thing in the world. Sans tries to phrase it differently but the child already answers him. 

“Daddy has pictures of you in his lab. In a file. Deep. Deeeep. Down in the back of the room with people sleeping in boxes. “

“... Sleeping in boxes?”

“You know. The. Not human… things.” 

“Monsters?”  
“Not monsters.” Papyrus puts a hand up to his lip, nearly yanking the IV with the sudden movement. Sans stifles a gasp and lies still despite his need to gag. The slow drip of foamy food swells around him. He internally checks his own health while the child is thinking. 1/1 . No change. Welp. Not that it mattered. Either it was 1 or he was dust. Pretty obvious to figure out. 

There's something else though. Something new. Defense was higher…


	10. Building a Bond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was 1k originally, but now its near 4.2k after editing! QwQ hahaha.... oops.

Sans drifts into a quiet state of rest. Not sleeping. Not awake. Just barely drifting between that place between the two. He's able to hear his brothers humming by his side. Its gentle tone was a lullaby for him, he could feel the heavy pull of fatigue sinking far back in the depths of his skull. Wanting to return to that blissful nothing of sleep. But there is another sense that keeps him awake. The feeling of the IV drip. It's tingle through his bones is small but unpleasent. It keeps him from fully delving into the trance of sleep, its constant pitter-patter in his soul stirs his gut and makes him want to yank the thing right out! His exhaustion kept him from doing just that. He wanted to lie here with his eyes closed forever and give into the tiredness.  


Papyrus on the other hand, with his loud song and chipper smile, was nowhere near tired. He is _happy._ And it feels like the first time he has been happy in a long while. That's because his brother is here with him again. And this time there’s no one left to separate them. He can have a big brother like the other monsters. He can have someone who will watch over him and love him and give him attention. A big brother was born to serve a little brother. Papyrus hums happily. Finally finding a brother of his own.   


Sure, Sans was weak... And he wasn’t ideal image of a strong older brother. But the image in his mind has always been of Sans. Sans was a face haunting in his memory. His other half. The only other complete half from Dad's experiments. _Oh, that was the word! The word he forgot!_

“Cones!” 

Sans bucks up with a jolt.  The child's sharp voice was ringing in his skull. 

Beside him, Papyrus is still sitting with the deflated bag of leftovers in his hand. The IV drip connected to his soul is near empty, but the heavy feeling of disgust sits there inside him. It is a weight pressing into his body from the inside out and filling his magic with mashed potato filler, circulating through his ribs and joints. Even if his health was stable, he felt bloated and completely wrong in every sense of the word. His body felt heavy. His ribs quake with a painful tremor. But he supposed he feels _slightly_ better. It's not as though the hack job of injecting food into his soul had zero effect. Though healing magic definitely would have recovered him faster... directly pumping food in a soul did have its benefits. Raising health above its capped limit was a good way to force healing. A temporary effect. Though it felt like his meager health point was stretched and stuffed full from all directions. A fatter version of 1 hp. _Pfft._ But eating wasn't the only way to raise health above its maxed limit. Sleep would help too. That is of course, if he could manage to get any. 

He turns his neck to look at his little brother, still not sure if he’s allowed to get up. 

“Cones?” He repeats. Sans faintly remembers the actor he'd seen in many magazines and posters along the road. That Meta...person. Papyrus even seems to have a few action figures of the star. “...I thought you might like rectangles more.” The dull look on the smaller skeletons face shows he’s not amused at all. “S..sorry boss.”

“That's okay. You're sick anyway but you got me my key so I’ll forgive you. Because that's how great I am! I forgive you even though you messed up! Because we’re brothers!”

“Yeah. Yay.. brothers.” Sans raises his arm to make an un-enthusiastic cheer. This doesn't seem like much of a choice. But _hell_ … they are technically family. He couldn't change that fact. Even if his little brother was unaware of how true it was. The little devil was going to forcibly mold him into a brother either way. Sans sighs. For a brief moment he thinks that maybe living alone in Waterfall was better. It was terrifying sometimes, not knowing when he might kick the bucket. Not knowing where he might get his next meal. Lonely, cold, and covered in mud. At least no one knew about little cavern home. At least he had stayed out of trouble, and most wouldn't bother him. But now the royal mutts and half of Hotland must have seen his face. Add to that a psychotic little brother that was on the verge of dusting or applauding him every other second. Sans should have never crawled out of his hole that day. 

“Daddy made lots of cones in his basement. Big cones, short cones, tall cones, round cones. His lab also has the key to the breathing room and the ink batons. We need to get stronger so we’re gonna go there tomorrow.” Sans wilted inside, hearing this child still had more plans in store for him. He'd just risked his life to get a damn key! Wasn't this punishment over already? He whimpers in the back of his throat, quickly trying to think of a way to weasel out of this.   


“So… boss, I had fun... playing. And I’m feeling better now, so I think it's … time I head home. For good. We had a deal right?” 

“... you’re leaving?” 

The sudden hurt in that voice sounds so genuine. He didn't think the little devil was capable of actual emotions. Sans snaps his head to look at the child, he looks teary-eyed. It makes Sans almost apologetic. He'd forgotten this murderer was just a kid after all. Papyrus was on the verge of tears, seemingly hurt at the rejection. Sans might have given him a hug, if not for the snap in Papyrus's character. His emotional outbursts were still developing. From sadness to anger, he stands up with a leap and stomps his foot. Beginning what Sans recognizes as a temper tantrum. 

“FINE! I DIDN'T NEED A BROTHER ANYWAY! I DONT NEED YOU STUPID!” Papyrus storms up the stairs to his room. Whether he knows it or not, his entanglement in the makeshift IV tubing causes it to yank when he stomps away. The IV yanks out of Sans soul and he lets out a hissed curse. Sans doubles over, gripping his chest tightly. His soul oozed from the tear where the needle had been ripped from.   


The bedroom door slams shut as his little brother seethes in his safe space. Sans shudders out a low sigh of relief. At least the bugger didn't dust him. The 'clubhouse' was his again. So maybe he could just go back and pretend this didn't happen. Sans risks getting up from the floor. Understanding why his spine throbbed as he spotted the sled underneath him. There was a comfy sofa only a couple feet away, but it must have been too hight for the smaller skeleton to help him onto. He takes a look at the home that was once his. His memories from childhood were far away and cloudy... but this place was still in his dreams. He missed its warmth. Its colors were a stark contrast from the brown clay. He missed having the safety of walls around him. But. Welp. He'd rather go home and not worry about monsters. 

With an ache, he gets to his feet, and groans as his arm clack in place- sore and covered in tissue paper. What time was it? Could he walk home like this? His whole body felt sluggish. He wanted to pull his soul out and wring it of all the excess weight. The satisfaction of eating to fullness wasn't how this felt to him. This soul stuffing was a violation in his body. And he wanted it out desperately... though his higher mind knew it was probably not a good idea. his soul would digest it eventually and he couldn't afford to waste the health boost. 

Just as he makes it to the front door, there is a violent crash from upstairs. Sans flinches, spinning quickly to look at the angry Papyrus who had slung his door open in full force. “YOU BETTER COME BACK TOMORROW!!” He bows his head in the scream, almost pleading, if not for the childish demand laced with a threat.  When the door above slams shut again, Sans trembles in the doorway. He looks around the house with bleary eyes. A home he once recognized seems completely different. This isn't his home anymore. This isn't the doctor's home either. This was Boss's home. This was his world.... and Sans was just a plaything brought here.  Clutching at his chest, Sans finally makes he decision to unlock the front door and leave. 

\--- 

The journey back home is slow. Only because Sans mostly sticks to the off beaten path. He chooses to tumble in the rocky hills away from the road and trudge through the muddy swamp areas away from view. He had to be wary of every move and shadow. His paranoia isn't unwarranted. At least, this time its not. There are royal mutts who are looking for him. Mentions of a thief are already rumored around the village. To be sure he isn’t found by a pesky dog's keen sense of smell, Sans moves downwind. He doesn't dare cross that invisible barrier until he is closer to home. He gets to his bottom and slides down the hill to his cavernous home in Waterfall. It is a sharp descent. Monsters might have used this cliffside of his home to jump to their deaths. So if anyone caught glimpse of a lone skeleton about to jump down, they're mind wouldn't linger long. The only thing below is sharp rocks and the wild torrent of the iconic waterfalls rushing past him. He twists his ankle to come to a complete stop before hitting a point of no return. Skeletons don't float. 

There's no lung space to keep them buoyant. As soon as water starts to fill the hollow paths of marrow and crevices of skull... it would cut off his route to his magic. He'd have no way to get back up... other than finding a way to walk back to shore. He shakes his skull as he tries to displace an uncomfortable familiarity in his bones. He'd always avoided falling in, but somehow the sensation was burned into his skull. A blocked memory maybe.   


He sidles against the hard rock, always nervous of the edge of the cliff. Perhaps for a tinier monster like Pap, he had no problem getting a footing. Slowly he creeps into his tiny abode, reaching out for the lantern he’s placed on the floor. His foot finds it before he can and he tumbles face down into a stash of crumpled papers. He inwardly groans. Those paper scraps once were his books. He lets out a half whine as his years of meticulous collecting ended up as a kid's shitty art project. And now it was neglected and damaged. He flopped onto his back, eyes still unable to adjust to the dimmer light. The roar of the cascading water door was the only way he knew what direction everything was in. If the falls were to his back. Then his bedding was on his left up ahead. And he'd already tripped over the lantern and got a face full of shredded books... so that must mean he was close to his bookshelf.   


He sits up and touches his toes, looking around for the speed bump he'd accidentally hit. After a few minutes of fumbling, he’s able to light the lantern and keeps it close. It's the only thing warm in his home. After a couple minutes go by, he scoots in a circle to face the eventuality of his book scraps. Maybe he can salvage this mess. For a couple of hours, he pieces long strips together. He tries to connect up the words and sentences from the text. He tries to reconstruct the few pictured diagrams. In the flickering light of the waning candle its hard to get a grasp on the small print. It isn't long before Sans gets irritated and tears begin to form in his sockets. He sniffles them back, trying to tape up some pages here and there. Its a puzzle. 

Just like the rest of his life. One big stupid puzzle and Sans didn't know how he fit into any of it. Frustration welts up in him as he fingers around the dirt and paper trails. When his patience reaches its limit and he is unable to see anything in front of him because of the tears pooling down his cheeks, he gives up in a fit of rage. Kicking the shredded pile out into the falls.  There, at the edge of his dirt home and the lip of the cavern, Sans falls to his knees and starts to cry. Starts to weep openly like he's wanted to do for ages. He's just a kid himself. Still dealing with all the emotional turmoil stewing in his head. 

_ So much has happened in just… one day. So much that he can’t even…  _

He heaves a sob, tears streaming down his face with no intent to stop.  When was the last time he had fully let himself cry? Big monsters didn't cry. Crying made monsters prone to attack. It was a sign a monster was defenseless and weak… but Sans can’t help himself. His arm hurts. His ribcage hurts. The nice things about his home are destroyed. There's so much mixed emotion for the death of his parents... and this new brother is terrifying. He doesn't want to go back. There's something in Papyrus's actions that make his bones quake. Some abuse he's not sure he's experienced and doesnt want the chance to. He cries until his voice hurt. It's one of the reasons his home is out here next to the falls. The sheet of water mutes out his noise.   


\--- 

Weeks pass in silence before Papyrus comes to retrieve him, angrily stomping and yelling that Sans didn't come back like he promised. Even though such promise was never made, Sans agrees and apologizes pathetically. Lowering his head into the dirt so Papyrus will know just how sorry he was. Maybe he'd take pity on him and not break his bones again. Again? Did that happen? He can't remember. His head feels so jumbled. But he apologizes again and again like it's natural. He doesn't want all of Waterfall doesn't wake up in his brother's tantrum. He'd just spent the last few weeks recovering, terrified every day of the passing guards and wonders if they will find his hideout. The last thing he needs is to draw attention to this place.   


Seeing his mini boss again doesn’t make Sans feel any better. At one point, he thought it was his duty to protect and live for his younger sibling but he knows that thought was only driven by fear. That same fear rises again when he gets a glimpse of his stats.  Checking the monster's health… A number of 120, smacks Sans in the face like a hot iron. It had rose!!! While Sans was sleeping and recovering over some cracked ribs and a dislocated arm... the child had killed again. Sans winces. Maybe if he had been around, he would have been the one dusted instead of some random monster. It's insane to think that such a small bubbly child like Papyrus was able to kill. Even in their shitty closed off world, the underground had rules of sorts. Killing was acceptable. Though there were some unspoken constraints, like avoiding children marked by striped clothing, it wasn't a law. It wasn't even punishable. 

To level up, monsters had to fight with their life on the line. That's what it took to survive… and that's partly what scares Sans. He got in one meager fight and ran away, but he was still injured. Papyrus, however, has been enjoying his newfound freedom without parents and fighting whenever he wanted. For fun. But he barely has a scratch on him. 

When he sees his little brother after two weeks of absence the only wound on him is a small scratch on the outer rim of his carpal bones. A pink kitty band-aid covers it. 

It was a crushing reminder of reality for Sans. He was always going to be weaker. Hell, even after two weeks, recovering from the splinter in his ribs, it still hurt to do anything strenuous. So he didn’t. He slept in all day when he could and stayed up all night, listening to the sounds of anyone approaching while reading what was left of his other books. 

When Papyrus comes into his nest again, it's the first thing Sans defends. He rushes over to the helpless stack of books and blocks them as it they were his own child. It's only after Papyrus’ tantrum has elevated that he neglects the text, opting for his own safety instead. The smart thing to do would be to bend to the childs whims and continue this _game of big brother_. He leaves the safety of his cave for an ‘ADVENTURE!’ as Papyrus called it. 

His mini boss takes him by a hand and pulls him up the side of the hill and they walk side by side, openly on the paved road. Sans quivers like a deflated balloon, only moving by being dragged forward by the child. 

Today's so-called _adventure_ took them to the city. They walk around the shopping mall, looking through the holiday windows for gifts and stopping every time Papyrus got wide-eyed and pressed his snotty face against the glass pane windows. Papyrus looks like a child sometimes. Especially when he breathlessly chatted about a toy he wanted. And pointed at everything in the mall with wonder and excitement. His red piercing eyelights became wide with wonder when he saw anything remotely interesting.   


Sans might have found it cute, but he hadn’t been paying much attention. His attention was elsewhere. He looks around a lot, just like Papyrus, but he isn't eyeing the things in the stores. Instead he is intensely focussed at the looks from other monsters who eye him curiously. Monsters that _whisper_ to each other and _point_ and _laugh_ and _question_ what the two children are doing _alone_. He hears the words _dirty_ and feels compelled to look down at his own muddy, bloody, crested shirt and shoes. He fears being ambushed. 

They walk to a park Sans never knew existed, where other children play and laugh happily while their parents chat away and gossip. 

Sans turns his nose up at seeing such a joyous scene. He thought that fish girl was some sort of freak for being so chipper… but seeing a whole park full of children running and laughing and playing fills him with despair. He’d always thought the underground was a bad place for monsters. A place to get stronger, hide, or die. Yet… this little square oasis filled with red wood chips and rubber foam was free from violence. The striped shirts were in abundance here. The parents were the ever watching guardians keeping this place safe. He wished so much he could have had this freedom growing up. To laugh openly without having to look behind his back every couple feet. To swing without wondering who was pushing him, or if a knife would be pushed into him. To play with other kids and make sand castles or trade cards. He was envious of it all.   


Papyrus lets go of his hand immediately, running outwards to claim the slide as his own and push other kids off. Sans lets a heckle pass his aching ribs. He sits on a park bench and waits, watching as his bro bullied other kids and yelled commands to his invisible army. He really looked like a normal kid… 

When the shadows of the day get longer he returns the boss home, stays for a bit, reads him a bedtime story and goes back to his home in Waterfall. It wasn't... all that bad a day. He actually felt more relaxed than he had in a long time. So with a little less groaning,  he comes back the next day… and the next day… 

Until he gets to the point where he lowers his guard around Papyrus and decides to sleep on the sofa, in the warmth of a real home. It's the first time he's ever felt so comfortable with another.   


If he'd known Papyrus had been weening him into the idea of staying, he might not have let his defenses down at all. These slow, casual, and meaningful last few days in the park and playing pretend were just to make Sans comfortable. When he stays the night, Papyrus watches from over the staircase banister. His dark eyes are steady. Calculating.  In the middle of the night, when Sans begins to make gentle snores, Papyrus comes downstairs with a syringe in his hand. He makes sure to be quiet enough so Sans won't wake. his crimson magic makes the room glow as he calls out Sans's soul. Slowly he eases the bubbling red and black liquid into the most vulnerable part of a monster's being. Papyrus's hand is steady as he pushes the plunger down all the way. Satisfied by the empty canister, he returns back upstairs and goes to rest as well. Sans does not stir at night… he doesn't know about the nightly injections. He feels safe with solid walls up around him.

\--- 

Sans was no stranger to the occasional nightmare. There were horrid figures in his dreams. Small yellow flowers with wide creepy smiles... Monochrome monsters with no eyes that held long-vacant stares... Gushing monsters that oozed something black as night from every orifice...

Sometimes he has dreams of himself as an adult. Dreams of getting cut in half while sleeping, which felt more real than a common nightmare. 

Sometimes he has memories of Gaster. Pulling. Prodding. Poking. And stabbing needles into him.  Countless times. It was a memory that made his skin crawl and something he was glad to almost recall nothing about when he woke. Whatever form his nightmare took, he would wake with a scream. 

To Sans, nightmares had been commonplace in his life. He assumed it was from some trauma he had with the doctor. He hated the excessive testing... but there was some stuff he didn't even know he'd forgotten until a dream unlocked that part of his memory in the worst way. Reliving it through nightmares was just another thing he'd come to get used to. Alone, In his cave-like home, he would wake up screaming. It wasn't always easy, being forced to muffle his cries and snap awake to realise where he was and that someone might hear him. It was terrifying to wake up shrieking and knowing that he couldn’t even have the relief of expelling that tension. It just settled in his bone, making him shake in a horrible unending and waking nightmare. 

He was unaware of the drug's side effects. When the nightmares increased Sans didn't even question it. Boss's house in Snowdin was warm. And for the first time in his life, he wasn't alone to deal with the nightmares. 

Papyrus had been irrate at first. The sudden screaming in the middle of the night was enough to startle any monster. But his freight turned to annoyance and anger when Sans would have bouts of screams two or three times a night. Neither skeleton was going to get much sleep as these sessions increased. Feeling partially guilty, ( and desperate for a way to quiet these episodes) Papyrus got used to it and developed a method for dealing with these night terrors. He’d prepare a glass of warm milk and shove it into his brother's hands. Then he’d take his place on the sofa and doze off on top of Sans. 

It helped.  


It helped in more ways than one, as Sans started trusting the tiny boss to tuck him in and sleep by his side. And Papyrus gained that brotherly affection he'd been craving. he came to like the nightly ritual. Sleeping side by side helped them both feel restful. When Sans started to stir with the small tumblings of a nightmare starting, Pap would drowsily rub his skull until Sans became quiet again. Sleep was important for his recovery. 

Those were the good days. A fake calm before the storm, when Papyrus wouldnt demand much of him except to play and to give him attention. They played games, they strengthened their family bonds, they came to talk to each other little by little and the fear Sans once felt was becoming smaller and smaller as he enjoyed hanging around his tiny boss. The days of warmth continued until Sans's ribs healed and his arm set in place. 

...

Sans had been in the bathroom. Part of his daily routine to change the bandages around his ribs. Only today was different, he noticed the scar among his ribs healing over. The growth of new bone had solidified between the cracks. He was glad it was starting to look better. Feel better too. And stupidly, decided not to wear the bandage under the impression it would give the wound some air to fully heal. And that would have been fine...   


But Boss took notice immediately. And, with the wound mostly healed, he deemed Sans fit enough to start the next part of his plan. Opening Gaster's lab. 


	11. Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word count for this chapter is 6.6k+ (^w^) getting closer to goal. I have been editing+ retyping the old chapters, and will continue to work on this fic to catch up to where I last left off and give it a nice conclusion. Hope you enjoy.

Sans stares at his ribs in the mirror. Luckily, they’ve healed quite well -considering no magic aid had been used. Just rest and some decent food. He'd had to rely on his own skills to bandage and treat the wound. the good intentions from his brother would have had his ribs duct-taped back on or swaddled in paper. So his brother has been observing carefully each day how Sans applies the bandages and cleans the wound, so he can also help. Medicine was something he never thought he'd be interested in. It reminded them both of their father... But if Papyrus intended to keep his newly found brother for long he was going to have to learn how to keep him alive.

With Sans's near recovery, it was the perfect time for Papyrus to speak up.

“I wanna go to dad's lab.” 

"..."

Sans doesn't say anything. He doesn't feel anything. It's as if he'd just given up completely, his body shuts down and he nods his head with a quiet acceptance. He'd known this moment was coming since the day Pap sent him on that suicide mission to go receive the doc's key. Sans knew he’d have to prepare himself to go down once again into the depths of that hollow place. He pulls down his shirt and turns to face his boss. The tiny skeleton has his arms raised, begging to be picked up. There’s a pleading look in Papyrus’s red eyes that make Sans inwardly groan. He's not sure which side is the real Papyrus. But he opens his arms wide, supposing he hasn't picked up his brother in a while. Maybe it was because of some sort of consideration for his wound that the request to be picked up had been quelled… but now that Sans is mostly healed it looks like his brother was being selfish again. 

The child runs up to him and envelops him in a full hug before Sans picks him up and lets Papyrus climb onto his shoulders. A pat from Pap signals he’s settled onto his high horse. Sans takes a deep breath, bracing himself for these moments of tenderness from Pap. It would be nice if Paps acted like a kid all the time. Carrying his little brother warms his heart a little. 

“Mush!” The child points forward. 

“Yes, sir!” Sans hums. He makes small train sounds _\- despite being a horse-_ as he navigates and weaves between the piles of toys and dirty clothes accumulating around the house. He spares a glance at his parent's bedroom door. “Hey, Pa-Boss?”

Papyrus clung to his neck, picking lint off of the clothes Sans wore. He made a small hum of joy, noting he was listening. 

“Why’d you… uh…” Sans trailed off. He wanted to ask why did he kill them. _Mom and Dad._ It didn’t make sense to him, he understood so little. Paps had wanted to protect him and that was touching in its own way, but Papyrus had no reason to kill his parents. He _still_ had a happy and healthy family relationship. Papyrus had better stats, _better everything_. He was nurtured and cared for. It's evident in the home surrounding them… There are traces of _love_ here. 

He stands atop the stairs now and thinks maybe this is the worse place to ask this question. He’d just healed… and Paps wasn’t the most level headed to answer deep questions like this. Interrogating monsters about a crime they committed didn't generally go well. So he changed his question to something less accusing than a motive for murder. “I’d like to see those documents you mentioned, boss.” He threw in the word ‘boss’ to every sentence now, it seemed to please any anger or suspicions the child had stirring. 

“Uhuh!” Papyrus hugs Sans’s forehead, slapping his arms against his brow. -Nearly yanking Sans’s skull backward in his excitement. “Let's go today! I have a hard time reading it but you can do it easy right brother?” 

Sans makes a small hum to agree. At the bottom of the stairs he parts with Papyrus, letting him down from his shoulders, and the two make their way to the kitchen. Papyrus climbs into his special chair, the one propped higher with the pillows from the sofa. He had to sit higher than Sans and assert his dominance for some reason… but then again, kids were kooky. It might be nothing more to him than a game. Sans shrugged. 

The door to the fridge swings open for breakfast, revealing some random leftover containers. Tupperware dinners made and prepared by their mother before she passed. The two of them have been eating through it and now the fridge and freezer were starting to become bare. Sans had been dreading the idea to go shopping for groceries. Money was hard to come by. But maybe Gaster had kept a small fortune in the house. 

“Hey Boss, did mom or dad keep a safe somewhere?” He opens the lid of a container and plops the square gelatin of frozen food down into a pan. He’s careful to turn the panhandle inwards and uses the back burners so Papyrus won't get hurt. Not that he would... the little brother had so much health right now he could probably stick his hand in the fire and not get burned. But as formidable a monster as Papyrus was, his height only came up to his shoulder. Sans couldn't help but look at him as a kid. He was one. Even the way he thinks about the question now, looked very cute and childlike. His face scrunched up like he was deep in thought. His tongue stuck out partly from his teeth. A tiny blep to make that bitter taste talking of parents go away. Sans might have teased him if he didn't think he'd get blasted to death. Did Pap have blasters? Come to think of it... he'd never seen the kid fight. Judging from how fast he killed Gaster... he must have had something incredible to overpower him.

Papyrus taps his skull until the idea comes to him. “Mommy might have kept money in her dresser.” Papyrus hums happily, ignorant of how toxic the affection of 'mommy' stained his breath. 

His parents, however brief a time they were his, made his gut clench with mixed feelings. Sans remembered how the two towered over him in that alleyway. Their dark and ugly expressions, hidden in shadow, only served to make them intimidating. Both had magic aimed at him, bone constructs and the eerie glow of fire magic. The light of which only highlighting those decrepit eyes that stared through him. He was less than junk in their eyes. Not a child of theirs ever again. They would have ended him right there and erase their mistake- like they should have the first time- if it weren't for Papyrus eagerly and happily asking his name. Unaware of the threat looming behind him. Protective guardians. They would have dusted Sans if he even _thought_ of interacting with their perfect little Papyrus. So the words mommy and daddy are layered with a feeling he'll never have of closure. A _want_ for a family he always desired... but would never get. There was _never_ going to be a chance to make up. Deep down in his bones, he knows that. He knows they never would have let him back into the family. He never would have got to come home and be hugged and felt the warmth of someone that loved and cared for him. But now with their sudden death, that impossible future wasn't even a fleeting fantasy of his. 

'Mommy might have kept money in her dresser.' The dresser upstairs. The dresser in their room. The room that remained unopened even though Sans had been here for a month and their death was well past the time of mourning. The mere concept of that room fills Sans with a fear he wasn't aware of until this very moment. He'd always felt uneasy walking past it. It was the figure in the back of his mind he didn't want to look at. A fear like someone was standing behind him. Even now, he feels that uneasiness of being stared at. He felt as though something had hands around his neck. As though the fear gripping his body was pulling. His whole being was drawn towards that bedroom against his will. He feels a ghastly tug on his bones to pull him up through the ceiling and into that room. Something about going into his parent's bedroom felt... _haunting?_ Yes, it was a taboo idea only because they were dead but Sans had seen many die before. This was a different pulse of unease. Just like in that alleyway so many nights ago, the shadow of his father loomed over him. He could only imagine what the doc's room looked like. Spikes and chains. Maybe metallic walls or heavy steam pipes. He wouldn't have a bed or a closet. Nothing a normal monster would own. Just a cold metal table with straps on either side to keep his hostages pinned down.

...

Sans felt really unsafe, even in his own head. There was more truth in these illusions than he'd want to admit. He shakes his head free of the thought. But that overwhelming feeling of fear doesn't settle, it just sinks lower into his gut. A warm aroma of food starts to waft past his nose as the frozen meal starts to cook. Even with its alluring scent, Sans doesn't even feel like eating. He felt sick to his stomach- if he had one. Whatever unreasonable fears he had were going to be dealt with today anyhow... he knew that he was probably making it worse in his head than it actually was.

Sans nods. He nods his head like a trauma victim. There is no stimuli. Just him. Just him and his thoughts battling the reality he had to face today. He might have to go up there and open that heavy door. He might also have to go underground and face some part of himself locked up. He stirs the pasta meal around. Red streaks of sauce in the pan bubble and boil thickly. He stares at the sizzling sauce. Finally stopping his incessant nodding to break the air pockets. He pokes the food with a spatula, turning it round and round in the pan until it defrosted into something edible. What was he making? Pasta? Blood? Sans doesn't even second guess it as he serves it to himself and his brother and sits back down to eat.

“Thanks for the grub,” Sans mumbles a bit half-heartedly. It feels routine to do this every day and he's not sure if Pap would even have survived if he wasn't here to make food for him. The shorty couldn't even reach the stove. Much less open the tall cabinets for dry cereal or fruit rolls. Maybe that's why Sans was left here. More than a toy, but a babysitter. _Hmm._ He thought about it while pushing around a meatball. His existence was only to serve the child's entertainment and needs. At least that gave him purpose. And that was fine with him. As long as Pap had a reason to keep him around he could continue this act of brother. At least for another day. After all... anything in that lab was going to the be the end of them both. Today was his death day, Sans thinks mutely before stabbing his fork into a wad of beef. He kind of resigns himself to that fact without being overly dramatic about his own life. He didn't feel like crying. He didn't feel sad. The thing was, he didn't know his birthday at all... so at least he had some comfort in knowing at least one date.

Blissfully unaware of Sans's troubled mind, Papyrus is happily making a mess of his breakfast. Chin deep in sauce and eating his spaghetti with his hands until the red-stained between his bone. He could easily do some hand painting with the mess of food he's made. More seems to be on his hands than in his mouth. But the red sauce on his jawline makes Sans still. The memory of that first night they met was so vivid in his memory. He looked like this too once. Covered in the red of marrow before reaching in to pull him in a comforting hug. A hug he'd been wanting for years- as he was held by his parent's murderer. And yet the terrifying memory bears no weight… not when his brother is smiling and playing with his food. 

His brother. 

The words have run through his head again and again. It is often followed by the moral obligation of protecting a family member, of protecting the child half his age. Sometimes it is accompanied by the fear and dawning realization that he knows nothing of the other. That they are complete strangers if not for that word binding them to some fabricated truth. A truth that only the word _brother_ and the child's whimsical murder is what gave Sans a place to sleep and drove the loneliness away. His purpose was now the child's guardian... and if that purpose was ever gone... Sans had to wonder if the fake title of brother would be revoked. Pap easily killed his 'mommy and daddy' after all. Without knowing they were family too, what would a stranger be to him? would it even make a lick of difference to not that he was his real brother? Not just in name but reality.

Sans looked at his own messy plate. Sauce and noodles. He didn't feel like eating. Not that this wasn't particularly tasteful... but across the table, Pap is slurping his noodles and trying his best to twist a fork in two hands, even though he's already used his hands on more than one occasion and the sauce makes his clammy little fingers slippery. It's a wonder how he managed to take on two grown monsters ( and more- he shivers) without the hand-eye coordination to navigate a fork.

He needed some air. Too many thoughts were clouding his mind. ‘I’ll go shopping later.” Sans says.

It's pretty bold of him for a couple of different reasons. Like... _what if there was no later?_ What if whatever was in those labs that Papyrus was hellbent on visiting dusted them both? It was awfully hopeful for Sans to imagine he'd have time to shop later. He hoped it was more his pessimistic attitude getting in the way of reality. He really did hope he could come back here to shop later. He had been to the shops in waterfall for food whenever he had enough gold. There they knew his face and cautiously watched him to make sure he wouldn't stuff something into his pockets like the thief they knew he was. But never had he been inside Snowdin's stores. They didn't know him. It was like a fresh start! Though he’s not sure if he could afford a piece of bread with the gold he has on hand...

He knows they’re running out of junk to eat. Cereal was gone, pancake mix gone, crackers gone, freezer nearly empty, save for a pack of peas, and the fridge well… they were eating the last of mom's leftovers right now.

Maybe if he were more sentimental, or knew his mother more, he might try to think of it as something of the last home-cooked meal by his dearly departed mother -but he doesn't feel the same love for her he knows he should have. Every bite feels artificial. Like the fake television-based sitcoms Paps watches sometimes. It looks real. But everything was for show. That's how his mother always was. The few memories he has of her was always sickly warm. Coming home to mother was a temporary relief he saw too little of. At night she’d read him a book or sing him a lullaby… He hardly remembers her face. Her time with him was always fake. Always short. Instead, he’d spend his days in the lab with dad… doing things only nightmares can recall. 

"Were you asking about mommy's safe cuz ya need money for shopping?" Papyrus pipes up. Late to the conversation but still pleasantly buzzing in his own social atmosphere. "Wait a sec, I have lotsa gold.” Paps remarks. He brings up his inventory and chucks down 20 gold pieces onto the table. Coins roll away but he scoops them up with streaks of sauce across the table and makes a nice lil pile. Not that it makes any difference if one or two coins roll away. The small change won't make a dent in their funds. Sans stares at the coins now covered in tomato mash. It was fitting for what Papyrus said next. “I get like 5 gold coins each time I win.” That was slightly more impressive than the meager pile. If not sickening. Sans nods, bringing the fork to his teeth and chews slowly. Calculating.

They had about 150 gold together… A simple Glamburger would run by 120… Sans wasn't the type to like that fancy stuff covered in glitter... but he remembered the pricing from when he'd pass by that burger place many times getting from the labs to home. Gaster bought him one once. Not out of any kindness... possibly to see if common healing items did anything for his sons pathetic point. He sighs a bit. Thinking about the vendors in Waterfall. Just 10g was enough to get a decent meal. Maybe if they only ate Tem flakes it might be enough to last through a month but that's not good enough. 

He’d have to scrape together cash somehow…If there was even a future for him. Going to search his parent's room seemed far from tempting. It was threatening. So Sans made a deal with himself. HE agreed to open the door if he got back home after today's _adventure-_ as Papyrus would say.

Speaking of which, it was time for their adventure to begin. Signified by Papyrus nudging his stool by the sink so he could step up and put his plate in the basin. Breakfast was over. He washes up quickly. Splashing himself and the floor until his bones shone through again. Each step down the small footstool is pranced down as the tiny boss skips gleefully to grabs a silver lunch box from behind the trash can. Sans raises a worried bone brow but doesn't ask what it is. He felt his voice still whenever that question came up. Just like when he'd first seen the same container buried in the snow by that cardboard post and when he’d first taken a glance at the syringes filled with red bubbly liquid. Sans didn't even want to know what the child was doing with it. Asking made him feel nauseous. Like the answer was already something he knew. Something he'd forgotten.

He can't help but eye the suspicious lunchbox nervously as Papyrus runs to the door to put on his winter attire. 

Sans looks down at his own plate, he’d try to savor the food but since Boss was already waiting by the door he doubts the child will have enough patience for him. He quickly shovels forkful after forkful into his mouth and slides his plate into the ever ominous tower of sink dishes. 

Papyrus is already putting on his mittens by the time Sans steps into his sneakers. He doesn't have the same winter attire as the other. The only new piece of clothing he had received was his father's coat. He disliked the shroud of death around his shoulders. But couldn't deny how warm it made him feel. Maybe he should get his own jacket like this. Something less heavy though. A sweater maybe. As if sensing his thoughts - and perhaps noticing the disgust on Sans's face- Papyrus chirps up that he will get some new clothes for him. An empty promise from a kid, but kind enough to make Sans feel a bit appreciated. Like he had earned some reward. He had something to look forward too. Shopping for groceries and clothing with his tiny boss. It made their journey seem carefree. As though a stroll through the most heavily guarded building in the underground was nothing but a walk in the park. The two head out, Sans following Papyrus as usual. The walk is nice. He’d never used the actual walking paths to get around and so he gazes at the view. Putting faith in his tiny homicidal boss.

The two talk and walk, leaving the house through Snowdin and cross the rickety bridge that bordered two climates. The precarious bridge was made from old, moldy and rotting, wooden planks. Through the rotting slats of wood beneath their feet, Sans gazes downward at the long descent of death below them- spotting the rows of spikes and sea creatures stirring in the waters. Heavy steel rusted cages hang from the cliffside, once in their history, this was where convicted monsters used to be lowered down into the waters to be executed. Now they are merely relics to accent the walk. But it was a strong reminder, that one slip up was certain death. On a daily basis heavy armor-clad guardsmen cross this old bridge, so Sans would hope it wouldn't break under the weight of two skeletons. He especially hopes the guards don’t come on patrol now and meet up with them on a path where they can only go forward. 

They eventually reach Waterfall where the two look out at the cardboard stand and spot Undyne. Sans freezes in fear as a flashback crosses his mind. He remembers how he left the monster alone, splitting up down a labyrinth of halls. He abandoned her. Didn't even think about going back for her. In the past few weeks, he’d only worried about his own recovery. A mix of shame and anger claws in the back of his throat when he sees her. She’s missing an eye now. A wicked scar runs over the cut of flesh. It somehow looks more painful than on bone. And it was his fault. Sans sucks in a breath, unsure if an apology would even help. But just as he opens his mouth a different sound comes out.

“I AM PAPYRUS! THE GREAT AND TERRIFYING!” Sans stops in his tracks and looks down at his bro. His sudden yell is enough to shake the cavern what the hell is he doing-??

“HAHAHA! I AM UNDYNE THE DEFENDER OF JUSTICE!” Undyne shouts. She stands up and laughs with an open mouth. Showing off her piranha white chompers. 

Sans pales, remembering this was part of a game Undyne told him about. He tries to play along but his spirit just isn't in it. 

“i’m sans. the tired.”

She waves an awkward half-closed hand at him, sucking on her inner lip to keep herself quiet. He’s definitely fucked up. Barely the memory of stumbling home was lost on him. One minute he was in Hotland, the next, he was in Snowdin. A couple of broken ribs hurt for a skeleton... but he couldn't even imagine what it would be like to lose an eye. For creatures made of a more fleshy matter, that shit probably stung worse. Magic couldn't help smooth over that either. It was permanent too… the guilt sunk deep into his shoes. Sans wished he could apologize… but he had a feeling that wouldn’t go well with Paps leading their expedition. 

She and Papyrus salute each other, part of their game, and they resume their journey. Only now Sans dragged his feet through the dirt as he followed behind Boss. Reminded once again that their destination was a dangerous place. Probably leading them to get killed or worse. There was no way the guards would just let two skeleton children wander down to Dad’s old lab. Right? 

... Yet Papyrus strolls right in.

From the minute they get closer to the tower that is the Hotland Labs, Papyrus is able to avoid every guard on sight. He navigates their scheduled shifts and motions for Sans to follow as they casually walk around the place. The only time they stop is to wait behind a desk until the office doors close behind them. ~ The kid was too good at sneaking around. Sans couldn’t believe how easily Boss led them deeper through the halls. It was humiliating to realize his boss could have gotten the keys instead of him. He was sent on a pointless fetch quest for nothing. Not for nothing. His worthless quest had proved he was a stupid follower. Willing to obey the kid's dumb requests. Easily threatened. 

They turn a corner where one of the larger dog guards lie in wait. Sans recognizes the mutt in solid plate armor and wielding an axe over his shoulder. That stupid panting tongue and puffy cheek good boi was wagging his tail so happy to see intruders. And upon seeing the pair of bones his salivation glands kicked into overdrive. It was as if all lust of fighting and eating was combined into one. The savage had a bloodthirsty look in his eye as he wanted to play with his new treats. Trembling bones started to make the background theme to this new monster encounter. A song of fear as Sans quivered in his spot. This was the same giant that slashed him last time. He grabbed Papyrus by the arm. Playtime was over. Definitely over! It was time to retreat! 

But when he pulls, his tiny boss doesn't budge at all. If the maniac had one good point, it was that ungodly courage. Unlike Sans, whose first instinct was to flee, Pap had stood his ground. _Oh shit._ Sans wasn't going to just let him stay here and die. And he _wasn't_ about to abandon a _second_ monster. A sudden panic struck through his core, when he realized he had no choice but to fight.

Or at least... let boss fight. He hadn't witnessed the magic his brother possessed yet.

Sans gulped back the lump in his throat, standing beside his brother as this threat turned on them. He felt his magic stirring in his bones. He tried to bring it forward, it required some time. But he could count on Boss to buy that for him. His eyes pinched closed as he felt energy starting to build. At the same time, the thunderous stomps of the giant dog strode forward. The lights in the room flickered and Sans felt the pinpricks of sweat bead upon his neck.

"Stop." Papyrus says sharply. At his words Sans releases the tension in his body, peering open an eye at his devil of a brother. _What?_ -He doesn't want Sans to fight? He's going to take on this monolith monster on his own?! Sans's legs turn to jelly.

It isn't until he sees the mutt sitting on the ground with a wagging tail- that he realizes that order wasn't for him.

"Fetch." Papyrus utters. He throws a fictional object in the hall next to theirs. Sans's eye hollow. This was far from a game. What the heck was his boss doing? Was the kid so deluded by fairytale he thought a grown-ass mutt was going to chase an invisible ball????! ...And in the next moment, he watches as the dog shimmies from his overweight armor and a tiny pup leaps out. Its paws scatter down the hall as it excitedly searches for a thrown ball. When it can't find it it runs even further away to see if it rolled somewhere else. Sans's jaw drops. No fucking way. He stares back at the hollow pit of armor left behind- which his brother walks right past and swipes an ID card from its belt. He uses it to open the next door, an elevator. "Hurry, or I'll leave you." Papyrus hollers, arm holding back the elevator door from closing. Quickly Sans jumps to follow him- unsure of when the beast would return. 

\---

They take the lift down into the deeper parts of the lab. 

Then an escalator. 

Then stairs. 

Papyrus knows the path, and soon Sans does too. Recognition of the odd landmarks in the deeper part of the labs starts to appear in his memory. The textures of the walls resembling circuit boards and glowing pipes that pulsed with electricity- the sliding chrome doors and conveyor belt paths seem so familiar. There aren't any guards in these lower decks. They are utterly alone. Which makes every footstep seem ominous and loud as the echo off the chamber walls. It's honestly a little scary. So when Pap grabs his hand, its They turn each corner hand in hand. There are plenty of offices along the way. Abandoned since the doc's projects took a more... secret turn. Neither one of them could remember a time when there were other scientists in these halls. Usually, the doc had a sidekick, but he rotated through them so fast that their names weren't worth learning. They ignore the cubicles and lesser offices. Their goal is the doctor's lab. The one where this key fits. The hallways seem to span on forever until they make it to the largest metal door. 

It's less a door and more a giant wall. The true entrance to the inner labs. 

It is protected by a single keyhole, a number pad, and a DNA hand scanner, which juts out from the side of the wall. As they approach, a panel lowers revealing the small lens of a camera. Sans remembers this part… when he had been down in these dark corridors with Gaster. He would be tugged by the wrist forward. Sometimes he didn't even get that luxury, Gaster would drug him the moment they stepped onto the elevator. Telling him to swallow pills that Sans obeyed because he didn't like remembering. _Remembering… what?_

_-Whatever was on the other side of those doors... Would be his answer.  
_

Papyrus lets go of his hand. For so long he had been ready for this moment when he taps away at a ten-digit passcode… then turns the key. He looks back at Sans for the last part. “My hands are too small.” He says. It's the only bit of information he offers but Sans knows exactly what he means. He needed Sans to put his hand on the DNA scanner. It was the last blockade on the door. If he chose to back out now, that door could remain closed forever. Or at least a couple more years until Papyrus's hand fit the slot. And even then, there was no guarantee either of their genes or magic would mimic the doctors. Hesitantly Sans stepped up to the plate, not one to keep his tiny boss waiting. Sans was a big boy now. He wasn't afraid of a hand scanner. He wasn't afraid of a door. And he certainly wasn't afraid of whatever was on the other side of the door! ... or so he hoped? 

An impatient tsk of teeth urges Sans to action. He presses his hand to the scanner, the light turns green and suddenly the inner cogs of the door start to turn. 

The large door unlocks. 

Papyrus turns towards him and smiles happily. It's clear he had doubts this would even work but now even his expectations have been shattered. He skips to the other side of the door and nudges it open more. He steps within. Disappearing. 

Sans sucks in a deep breath... He looks back down through the empty hall. It feels like something was in the darkness. He didn't want to wait out here alone, so he joins his brother. He steps into the lab and shuts the metal door behind him. When he turns around he has to stop and gasp for air. 

Memories flood through his brain. 

He remembers the giant glass jar he had first awoken from.

He remembers the giant drill hanging from the ceiling. 

He remembers the name of each tool on the shelf. 

He remembers the smell of antiseptic and bleach. 

He remembers the metal table he was tied to.

He remembers the feeling of metal- poking.

He remembers the grip of ‘his’ hands. 

He remembers the injections.

He remembers screaming.

He remembers crying. 

He remembers _dad_. 

Papyrus doesn't say anything. He stands by his brother's side and picks up his hand once more. Reminding him that he’s here with him. Sans appreciated that. It helps him. It helps him more than it should. And he knows he’s crying now. And he can’t stop the tears. He grips tightly to the tiny hand in his. 

They stand at the entrance. Unmoving. Paralyzed by the expanse of machines and tools on every wall. The high ceilings that bounced around sound and screams… screams that couldn't be heard from this far beneath the ground. Sans looks down at his brother. Papyrus looks up at him, eye glowing, sympathetic smile on his face. Sans stares out at the red whips of magic from his brother's left eye. He bites back the bile in his throat, showing his own glowing right eye in response. The other half. Papyrus grips his hand back. The act of brother is gone. This is genuine. This is real. He knew. 

This is where they were tested. 

This is where they were made. 

\---

Sans doesn't calm down, even after the passage of ten minutes. He continues shivering, only one foot away from the only entrance and exit. Papyrus has to drag him further into the lab for Sans to finally start to wake. 

They walk up to the large fridge in the back. Papyrus dumps the contents of his silver lunchbox in a dumpster that says ‘hazard’. Dozens of emptied syringes fall out and tumble down into a vacuum of space. The fridge has the same syringes lined up in little vending machine slot-like rows. When Papyrus removes one, the next slides forward to take its place. The same ominous red bubbling liquid sloshes inside of each one. Sans should really ask what they are... but that same feeling of nausea overcomes him. A memory of Gaster pushing the plunger down into his soul vividly strikes across his memory. A migraine of lightning bounces in his skull. He doesn't want to know what his little brother is doing with the syringes. He already knows they're meant for him... They are important. Apparently it's the whole reason they are down here, to begin with. Sans looks over at the sign on the labels. ‘Raw determination.’ _What the hell did that mean?_

“Can we get out of here now?” Sans asks. He’s clearly not comfortable in the abandoned lab but Papyrus shakes his head no. He stores each vial back into the lunch box and clips it tightly, leaving it in the fridge for now.

“You should go to the ink baton room.” He says. “That's where Dad kept those documents.” 

Sans just barely nods. His eyes are focussed on the medical knives displayed on a platter. For _cutting, spreading, splintering, chipping… Each word brings with it the hypersensitive feeling of scars on his bones.  
_

Trying to get Sans to give him attention again, Papyrus tries to snap his fingers- but can’t manage to make the sharp sound he wanted. Instead he claps his hands. When Sans finally breaks free of his trance again he stares at his boss with tears streaming down his face.

“You’re weak.” Papyrus scolds him. “But it's not your fault. He made you that way.” He grabs Sans by the hand and pulls him away from his transfixed horror. This room with the sharp instruments was no place to stir up those sour memories in his brother. They had many reasons to come here, but traumatizing his brother was not one of them. He felt pity for the skeleton. The older brother quaking in his shoes. For him... this was something he thought he could erase from his past. For Papyrus, this was very much fresh in his head. Not yet something that needed to be hidden from conscious thought. He couldn't forget even if he wanted too. This was just a common toil of life.

They stand in another room. It is open. Grand, like it had once been a ballroom for royalty but now the halls were filled with medical beds and painful instruments and large machines that hung down from the tall arched ceiling ways. … Off to the sides there were more hallways. More doors. More places to get lost if Sans weren't holding his brother's hand. Papyrus is his navigation system. They stop in front of a closed door. 

“This is the Ink batons room.” Papyrus points inside. The doors from here on out are unlocked. There was no need for a card or key so far in the security of the labs, so he jiggled the doorknob and holds it open for Sans. He finds a lightswitch on the wall and flicks it on without knowing its purpose. Immediately the generator starts whirring to life, and the machines inside start to move with a crawl. 

Sans looks inside the room, wincing. He doesn't have a memory here… but this wasn’t a good place. He takes a step back, sweeping his head from the sign outside the door to the interor. As if that wsa going to change what he was looking at. “Boss?… This place… isn't _‘Ink Batons._ ’ room." He whispers. Like everything in the lab, it is written in Wingdings. _Was this what Papyrus meant when he asked if Sans could read?_

It becomes obvious to him his brother has a problem reading wingdings. He’s identified a few letters… but the word wasn't in his vocabulary… it made sense he would guess parts of what the word made up to fill in the blanks. The sign doesn't say Ink baton. Sans steps into the room. Feeling a shiver run up the length of his spine and chatter through his teeth. Along rows and rows of conveyor belts and isolated glass rooms are eggs. Lots and lots of eggs. 

“This is an incubation room.” Sans shudders. His disgust doesn't even last a minute because Papyrus speaks up again.

“Dad keeps the _cones_ back there.” Papyrus points at the door at the very back of the room. “That's where his desk is too. ” 

Sans pales. _Cones_. That word again. Like the last one, this was also a mistake. Isn't it? If _Ink baton_ was incubation… then _cones_ must be… _What did Papyrus say?_ Not humans… not monsters... sleep in boxes back there. What words was cones supposed to be? He worries about what's beyond that door. He worries about what he's staring at right now. But just like before, he can't stew in his distress before Papyrus does something. 

“I’ll leave some for you.” Papyrus speaks. He lets go of San’s hand and pushes an egg over. It shatters to the ground, yolk and a small deformed fetus inside. The creature spasms. Once. Twice. Before turning to dust, leaving only a goopy membrane sac behind. 

Sans cups his mouth, he feels those morning leftovers come up, dripping through his teeth despite his effort to stop from vomiting. The conveyor belt moves forward, the gap filled by yet another egg. “B...boss. What-- wwha-” He feels his soul lurch into his throat. He shouldn't have to ask what this is. He knows it's obvious. The solution has been in front of him… in front of _all_ monsters the whole time. The steady population underground, the flip-flopping laws on killing children, the disappearing monsters… explaining how the rich who couldn’t even fight managed to have so much health they were practically immortal…

He watches his brother knock another one down… 

the splatter, 

the convulsing, 

the dust…

  
  
  
  
  
  


Papyrus gained another level.


	12. Eggs-terminated

Deep in the underground...

Miles below what monsters called home...

In a room hidden from everyone but the royal scientist...

The unlikely pair had arrived in a chamber of the Undergrounds most guarded secret, the incubation room. 

The floor is a giant drainage system, a few grated steel wires criss crossed for footing. As shells continuously break, the mucus of an egg sac is clipped through the wire and the squirming child follows suit, collapsing into a cloud of dust that mixes with the mucus of its yolk. Dust clings to the liquid, absorbing it like wet sand.  The eggs are odorless. They smell only of the rubber and steel of the factory. And a handy conveyor belt delivers more to replace them before they are missed. Somewhere behind the wall a machine whirs loudly to produce more product.  It's a horror for any adult to see. 

And yet, two children were down here.  These children have to stare at these still births with vague understanding of what this place is.  Away from the scrupulous view of cameras or adults. Each child deals with the death differently. One is Papyrus.  Blind to the disgusting meaning of this place, Papyrus races around in circles. Pushing rows and rows of eggs as he strolls along, causing them to topple over and crack. 

The other child is Sans. He is the child curled up over in the corner.  Sans can barely open his eyes, tears have swelled in his sockets and refuse to stop. There is a red glow of vomit that he heaves up onto his jacket. It dribbles from the side of his mouth. He tries to hold it back by palming his mouth but it only seeps through the crevices in his phalanges. It proves to make him sicker with the sickness squelching between his digits. The smell is horrible, leftover ravioli and the surplus of exhausted magic.  Its light is dull, like a waning flashlight, is the third brightest thing in here aside from the naked bulb hung overhead at the doorway. 

The second source of light comes from the sporadic bursts of white light from the shattered souls. Right before disappearing they flicker bright with the _will_ to keep struggling. To _live_. Though no newborn has shown the strength to keep alive for more than a few minutes. 

This is no different than what he was going to do that night he met his brother inside his crib.  Sans had decided he was going to snuff out baby Paps the same way as the eggs on the floor. Kill them before they had a chance to do anything. It would be extremely easy and he was going to level up. And somehow he thought that if he just leveled and improved his stats he could take his place back home… He desperately wanted to return home. He'd do anything to return. But that night his brother stared at him with such innocent features, that he changed his mind. He couldn't do it. But the feeling was there. Sans knew in his head he was just one minute away from becoming a murderer. He was close to dusting his brother. 

So why was he vomiting now? Why was he crying? Why is he disgusted that Papyrus would gleefully push the eggs off the tables and collect the experience from them? Sans shook his head back and forth, trying to ignore the crisp crack of eggshells breaking.  Even knowing it was the logical thing to do to level up, he feels sick to his core. Even if they couldn't walk or talk back, those are children! Yet ... no one is watching. A sick rationalization turns his stomach when he recognizes no one is going to stop them. No one knows they are here. There is essentially an endless source of exp here and they can use it however they wish. 

But... the only way to get it- is to harvest it from aborting children. He feels disgusted at himself. He would have done the same thing years ago when Pap was still in the crib... Is it any different than that time? Why is he surprised his brother would also plan to do the same thing?  There is a pang of guilt that overcomes Sans’ senses. At the sound of yet another loud crack, he feels his nerves stiffen. It makes him flinch backward and unintentionally he hits his head against the back wall. 

_This was normal._ He tells himself. _This is the way this world was. Kill or be killed._

Sans couldn't fight. He couldn't run forever. And that's what made him feel unsettled and wretched because he knew exactly the type of monster he really is. If it weren't for his initial shock and sense of morals holding him back, he'd be right beside pap- knocking over those eggs. He knows that too. His own disgust in himself is the only thing keeping him from joining in. Sans, spits up the leftover chunks of vomit in his mouth. He doesn't feel sick anymore. Just conflicted. But he doesn't know why. 

Logically, this is the way the world has always been. Kill or be killed. But to do something _so evil_ felt like the last shred of himself was being destroyed. To kill something else meant he would sink to the level of Gaster. Or Pap. Or any other fucking monster in this fucked up world. _He didn't want to be part of it._ He never thought he could be part of it. He always imagined he'd have to run from a battle with his shitty hp and hope to live his days in peace. But as the eggs cracked one by one, part of him felt like it was cracking as well. The constraints of society were cracking and his will to be innocent were crumbling away. _He was a monster_. A terrifying monster, in every sense of the word. And he knew... he always knew... that this 1 hp waste of space would do anything to survive if given the chance.  


He’d do _anything_ to survive.

_Anything_ to stand next to Papyrus. His _brother._ And call this fucked up relationship something like a _real_ family. 

The inner conflict within himself is quelled. His shock at seeing the baby monster's death was desensitized after the twentieth or so egg cracking. He stands up, teetering left and right without his sight.  There is a hum of magic in the air. Something that would make a lesser monster's hair stand on end and destroy any hope of escaping. Magic floods out of Sans and hovers in the air above him. After a brief consideration, he calls Papyrus to his side. Urging him away from the area of effect this next attack was going to have. Because he had no idea how wide that might be, Sans doesn't want to look. He doesn't want to feel. He shuts his eyes tightly, though whips of red magic still dance around his eye socket. 

Papyrus understands this is an attack. He'd felt the same thing upstairs, but it wasn't nearly as powered up as much as it was now. Without an enemy to chase them down, Sans fully uses the time to charge up his attack to the max. The aura in the room becomes heavy with magic. Papyrus can barely breathe, can barely withhold his own fear. His brother says to come closer but for a terrifying moment all the child can think about is running away. This was different. FAr different from any magic attack he'd experienced. It felt as though his own magic was going to get sapped too if he didn't press his arms to himself, somehow caging in his soul and hugging himself to avoid the tremor in his bones. He gulps, fighting every molecule of his being to run closer to the threat in the room. No sooner than he brushes fingertips with Sans does the red porous light above them take form, the last and brightest thing in the room. 

White pale bone like a calf's skull glows in the darkness. Its bones radiate brightly as though it were made of pure starlight. the beast has eyes- red- like Sans's magic. It stares at Papyrus, eye lights changing direction as though it had a will of its own. But when Sans clenched his hand and directed it to fire, its eye lights are snuffed out like a candle being blown out. At once the massive beast opens its jowls, dislocating its mouth to curve a beam across the front half of the room. The white laser fills the whole room with a loud static. Everything is engulfed in its white cleansing light.  


Papyrus stills, gripping tightly onto Sans's free hand despite the vomit squishing between their palms. The only safe place is right here. The blast lasts no more than a few seconds before the blaster crumbles, shards of it fall to the ground like glass, covering Sans and Papyrus in a snowfall of dust and magic.

The room is enveloped in darkness again. Completely blinded in awe by the brightness of the attack Papyrus sees spots in his vision. He shakes like a leaf, only gripping onto Sans's hand to know his brother was there. To know he was safe and someone had him. He never thought such overwhelming power could exist in this world. ...His view of the 'weak' older brother suddenly and frighteningly shifted. He grips Sans's hand tightly.  


And Sans grips back, it's just as much of a tether for him as it is for Papyrus. With his other hand, now free from orchestrating the blaster's attack, Sans wipes at his snotty face and opens his eyes. Unlike Papyrus, who was blinded by the flash of light, Sans knew better than to be blinded by his own attack. His unwillingness to look at his victims also helps him recover quickly to stare out at the damage. His eyes are well adjusted to the darkness in the room.  Beyond a trail of smoke and ash… beyond a tuft of char that clings to the conveyor belts and jams it up from moving forward… there are rows and rows and rows of eggs still intact. His fearsome attack hardly cleared the first two rows. More bark than bite.  


Sans laughs. The sound breaks through his teeth like a wheeze. 

For the impressive light show, his attack proved to be less than useless against defenseless eggs. Pushing them off the ledge would have been less exhausting. He thought he could get them all with one shot... he was a fool. He was an idiot to think he had any strength at all. His ace attack was nothing special at all. He really, really, was pathetic. And worse than that... now he truly was a monster. He was lower than dirt for attacking something that can’t fight back. …And he's scum for being disappointed he couldn't wipe out the whole set of them. 

If there was one good thing that had come from his failure, it had to be his stats! Sans tries to remain positive. Quickly he takes a look at his stats, only to feel his soul sink. After his whole resolve- _Resigning himself to take another life. Admitting to himself it was okay if he did this. Telling himself it wouldn't matter as long as he survived… as long as he could make a better life for himself. And that it would be worth it so long as he could stand by Papyrus's side._ _Even after all that... he had steadied himself and aimed the blaster for the group of eggs. He'd successfully taken out a row of twenty or so... -_ his hp still sits at a measly one. 

**One.**

His level is four now. His defense is higher. His attack is stronger. His wounds are healed. But his health is still… _still_ a measly **one**. 

Ha. He could sob if he had any tears left to shed. 

“... he gave you his magic…?” Papyrus murmurs. It's not a question, despite the rise in voice. Its a statement in awe of the blaster that just decimated the room. Even if it's range wasn't all that good, the whole front of the room remained singed in that light bath. Sans nods to agree, the words choked in his throat. Slowly he palms his eye, letting the magic fizzle down till it's nothing but a hiss of steam. He doesn't feel like talking. Despite this triumph, he feels everything he does is pointless. Pathetic. He beats himself into the ground with his thought of self-hatred _. No wonder Dad abandoned him. He'd never have the stats Papyrus did. He was a defect. Broken. A mistake. He should have died years ago._

It's only when he hears Papyrus’s chipper voice, excited and yet strained, that he can manage a small helpless smile. His reason to keep living in this fucked up world. 

“Do I have it too brother?! Can I shoot lasers!?”  Sans nods his head, not wanting to look at anything but his feet. He reeks of bile and ash. He wants to change. Wants to scrub at his bones and remove the sickening level he’s earned. It's not right. It's not his. He doesn't deserve it. He didn't earn it. And now- knowing it was a pointless endeavor- he doesn't want it. All it did was add Lv. He was still a one-hit-wonder. He was still... pathetic.

“Do it again!” Papyrus tugs at his sleeve. Sans can barely contain his disgust, not only in the hyperness of the child beside him but in himself. He shakes his head. His magic feels too faint. He’s wasted a lot of it, vomiting what little of his power remained. Papyrus tugs him again. “I want to see it! Show me how you do it!” 

“...l...later.” Sans can’t even hold himself up. He wants to cry, wants to vomit but his head is pounding and his body shakes. _Oh no. He shouldn't have used all that magic so suddenly._ He falls to a knee. His vision was fading fast. _Did he use all his magic?_ He quickly checks, finding his magic completely drained despite the level up. Papyrus is saying something. Trying to keep a hand on him but he isn't able to catch Sans as he falls down, face-first against the steel grates.  


\---

It feels like ages before he wakes up again. His limbs sag painfully heavy by his side. He can't even raise an arm to block the light. 

_Where was that coming from?_

He peers open an eye to see the artificial light of Snowdin shining in from a window. 

_ Ah- They were back home. Good. Good.  _

They were finally away from that dark lab and all its horrors. Sans muddles through consciousness and dreams. Drifting lazily between fits of sleep. 

In one moment he’s flying above the clouds, picking up stars, and going to space. In the next he’s staring at the back of his hand, trying to blot out the light from the window. In another dream, he is in a long hallway of arched windows. A flower is attacking him. Funny. And then he is back home. In bed. Back to the waking reality of homemade waffles wafting by his nose. He likes this smell, its a lot better than the strange litter of dreams. He tries to force his eyelids to open… 

“Finally, your awake brother.” Papyrus is in front of him, sitting on the edge of the bed. But it's not the child he’s used to calling brother. It is a lanky, adult version of him. Cloaked in a red scarf and a black turtleneck… he looks cozy. Maybe even a bit too warm in the heat of the house. His softened expression is a strange counter to the jagged teeth. But Sans knew that cozy side of his brother that no one else got to see. It must have been a weekend, Boss wasn't the type to skip a day from work. 

Sans tries to sit up in bed but a sharp feeling runs through his legs and through his spine. He nearly calls out in pain when long ivory fingers curl up against his mouth. Silencing him. 

“Shh… I don't want to hear anything from you unless it's a sorry. Understand?”

Sans nods his head, the feeling all to familiar to him. _But why?_

_...Where was he?_

_...Who was he?_

Those questions didn't seem to matter. Boss was waiting for an apology. 

_Apology for what?_

The memories feel alien to him, but they flit through his brain as clear as day. As though it were a play he'd seen on tv, his own life plays on a record though he knows he hasn't been part of it. These new memories tell him, he once tried to run away. And then he was punished. And his legs... they were broken. That pain suddenly has new meaning. 

_He remembered Papyrus broke his legs._

Sans snaps his head to look at himself, he can’t see anything when he’s wrapped in blankets but moving his feet toes even the slightest hurts so much he’s sure he’s going to pass out. His legs are broken. _His legs are broken! Oh stars._ He breathed hard. It couldn't be true. It wasn't true! He had to cling on to hope. He flexed his legs again- enduring the painful strike to make sure of something. He still had a feeling in his legs. _Good. good. That was good…_ mobility was a necessity in the underground. If he didn't have his legs he couldn't run away! How was he going to even survive without-???

_ (Boss will take care of me. He always does.) _

That voice startles him. Sans jerks his head towards the older version of his brother. He's the only other person in this room, but that voice didn't come from him. Those words weren't spoken by Papyrus. And oddly enough Sans felt as though they were in his own voice. His own mind provided the answer he was looking for. His subconscious was feeding him information about a life that wasn't his- and yet - _was_. Sans doesn't feel normal. His head is splitting. 

His brother shouldn't look this way? Right? He takes a look at his baby brother. But right now he wears an adult's face. It is so steep, angular, rigid, and yet… he looks so warm. Smiling gently, even though his eyes are half-lidded in anger. It's the cynical smirk of someone waiting, knowing they were right, and wanting to be praised. 

“Boss I -” _He wanted an apology right?_ “ I’m sorry for-” _He ran away didn't he?_ “Trying to leave.” 

A large hand reaches out towards him. Sans has the urge to jump backwards. Everything moves in slow motion. He feels like he’s going to be struck. _Boss will slap him._ _Boss will strangle him_. _Boss will force him down_. Those slender digits come closer and a new fear grips Sans. He knows what this is... 

_ Boss is reaching for his eyes.  _

_ Boss is going to take his sight.  _

Sans is a quivering mess of tears by the time the hand collides softly with the top of his skull, stroking affectionately. He barely understands what's going on. _Wasn’t he in the labs a moment before?_ Through the stain of tears he looks up at this version of Papyrus. 

_ His Papyrus.  _

It is undoubtedly his brother, even if he is older… even if he looks different. Sans has the inkling of memories here. This is his world. His brother. _His life_. It feels so natural and scary. Like replacing the main character of a beloved book. He knew the story. He knew this role… but it felt so _strange_. 

He leans into the touch. He loves the small pats Papyrus rewards him with. _Why would he ever want to run away from this?_

_ Oh. Because Boss hurts him. A lot.  _

_When did that ever happen?_ He asks himself. 

He feels his bones ache and twist. The pain in his limbs answers where his memories can only form blanks. 

“Drink, there are painkillers mixed in.” Boss offers him a glass of milk which Sans all too eagerly accepts. He’s parched, his head hurts and the throbbing of pain running up his torso needs to stop and only drugs can help mute the pain. _He needs it_. _He wants it._ But it's not strong enough… and he wonders why he knows that. 

The pain doesn't dull immediately. He finishes his milk and laps at the sift of powder at the bottom of the cup, trying to quell the ache in his soul. Boss takes the cup back, with some difficulty. They fight for a moment before it registers to Sans he should let go. 

Just as he does, the same thought crosses Papyrus and the ceramic mug clatters to the ground. The handle chips away into pieces but the precious mug stays whole much to Sans relief. Memories of the gift flood to his mind. It's the NASA mug Boss had found in the dump. It was a present for Sans’s birthday. A promise that one day they’d go see a real space shuttle together… 

_ Why does Sans know that? Who is he? Whose life is this?  
_

He takes a glimpse around the room, recognizing it as his brothers. An ache in the side of his head tells him that much. He remembers when they had put a pirate flag on the wall and announcing that pirates are the most superior of humans because they must be half skeleton if they'd boast a flag with skulls. 

He remembers the table full of stuffed animals and action figures that Boss swept into the trash and replaced with numerous textbooks. It later became filled with deskwork and reports for the royal guard. 

This room used to be their parents. 

It's the bigger room of the two. When Sans officially moved in, Boss gave him his old room back… knowing that going through all their mom and dad's junk would be too painful for him. Boss bagged all their shit up one night and threw it in the basement. He cleaned the house like there was never anyone else living there. The house was empty… felt devoid of life. But Sans felt relieved. _Happy even_. It was a new _start_. Without the haunting memory of their father in the house.

“... Brother?” There's hesitance in Boss’s words. He eyes Sans, then his status. Sans shudders at the uncomfortable flicker of being scanned. “...Where were you... before you woke up here?” The smell of blueberry waffles wafts every time Boss opens his mouth. It's on his clothes too- smeared on an apron that says, ‘Fuck you, it's my kitchen.’

“... we were in the labs?” Sans pauses, his head hurts a bit too much. “Dads, lab.” 

“When?”

“When- I don’t know?” He clutches his skull. “It felt like… it felt real… but then I’m here.” 

“Sans.” His brother's voice cradles him. The deep lull of words practically eases the pain away from his skull. “Did we just open the amalgamate cages?”

“Wha- no?” Sans shakes his head. But its too late, the memories flood to the surface. _They're standing in front of a mirror and behind it are rows and rows of locked kennels for dogs. Only they aren't dogs... they are things... oozing with black goo. They could escape by liquidating through the bars if not for their solid artificial soul, a metal box of wires and bits, acting as a base. The monsters whine and shriek. They can’t escape. They can’t die. Boss, tuts his teeth. He doesn't like it, but he slams his gloved fist on the release button. At once, all the cages slide open. The monsters yip and below in an octave too low for anything but dread, but to these creatures it's a cheer. A cheer of freedom. Boss turns around. Back to him. Back to Sans, and he turns his attention from the two-way window that kept them safe. He summons a bone and breaks the machine, not even looking behind him as he does. He says they’re not coming back here. He says to keep this place a secret._

“Stay with me, Sans!” Boss flicks the side of his head. “You and your time and space shenanigans… it's just another nightmare. Let it pass. Stay focussed. Did you meet Gaster?”

_Time and space? Gaster? Wha-??_ A flash of an image flits across his eyes. _The melting monster approaches him, a caked smile on his mask. Eyes hollow and as black as the void the thing crawled out of…._

“No!” Sans shakes his head. “No. Dad is dead and you- you killed him!”

“I know." His acceptance is boorishly present. "Did you meet Alphys? Did you see the clones?” 

Sans shakes his head. He doesn't know why Boss is yelling. This feels awfully one-sided and it isn't fair! He can yell too! If he wanted too. … but Boss might hit him. _Boss always hit him when he stepped out of line._

“Did that strike a memory? You didn't look like it…” Boss pats his head, looking intensely at his eye lights. “That's it… isn't it? Back when we went to the lab the first time…” He smiles. “So you're _that_ Sans huh?” He leans in to hug him. Wrapping his heavy self around Sans's small frame. Sans nearly yelps when he feels his knees bump against the other. The pain splices up his nerves and makes his eyes roll back in pain. 

“Sorry!” Boss sits back, wary now of the way he touched the other. “It’s temporary! - You tried to run away from me Sans, I had to. I had to make you stay! You were going to abandon me!"  


“I’d never abandon you, boss!” The words just slip out. In a moment Papyrus face shifts from hurt and jealousy to a pained expression… he looks like he’s going to cry. He looks like he might yell… He leans forward again. Enveloping Sans in an uncomfortable twisted hug. 

“Shut up- you're not the Sans I want to talk too. Just hurry and come back… stupid.” The heated words in his voice don't land with the hatred that they should. Instead, he sounds awfully weak and depressed. The mean words don't jab at Sans the way that they should. Somehow he feels pity towards this adult Pap. 

Even though he feels bad for him, Sans freezes at the touch. It burns. His brother is buried in his neck, holding him so tightly. Awkwardly Sans returns the hug, wanting to comfort the Papyrus, but every touch feels hypersensitive. And he’s not sure what to say. He’s not sure what he _can_ say. There is no memory that he can call up that would make this any less strange. From over Boss, he can see a stack of blueberry waffles. Freshly made and warm with steam trails of heat rising off the plate. The smell lingers around the whole room. Taunting him with its allure. Outside the window. Snow is blowing hard, but it's so sunny outside it's blinding. It's a good day to stay indoors and just relax with a homecooked meal.  


He notices the collar around his neck… he tries to thumb the name tag but can’t pull it into his line of vision. He looks at his fingers, scarred and chipped. Fractures run along the sides and trailing up his arms the damage gets much worse. _That's why he wears layers_ , he thinks. _To hide the scars._

His head hurts so much. His hands shake. He thinks the drugs are starting to kick in. He feels heavy. Like the weight of Papyrus's hug is enough to shatter him. He wants to close his eyes and drip back into the lull of sleep. 

“Boss…” He whispers the words, wanting to ground himself to whatever present this was. “How old are you?” He already knows the answer before its said. Boss is twenty-one. He was vice-captain of the royal guard. Strong and smart…. Papyrus was a natural leader. Sans was sure he would lead monsters to the surface. 

And then he thinks of himself. _Sans._

No memories come into his brain. 

Outside of Papyrus, Sans has no idea _who he is_. No idea _what he does_ or _what he is going to do with his life_. 

He still wants to see the stars. Still, wants to go to space. But that's a childish dream. Something he’s never grown out of. _Didn’t the older Sans have hopes and dreams? Why did it feel normal to just hope to die and reset? Why did the knife on the platter look so tempting? Like it was going to make his legs feel better if he just jammed that into his soul? ..._

Boss sits back up. “Is that you - this time?” 

What's Sans supposed to say? It's always him. He’s never been anyone else but him. Even… during his time… and space… ‘shenanigans’… it still feels like him. Still feels the same. Like he’d been dreaming for a while and now waking up to this- all this- seems odd… but familiar. _This was home right?_

Boss huffs in a bout of air. “I supposed it was too soon to be hopeful. -Anyway, while you're here, you should eat. My brother's hp is low enough as it is. I don't need you to ruin his health.” He shoves a plate into Sans’s lap. The glistening stack of yellowed waffles, crisp and dripping in syrup. 

His stomach gurgles in need. He avoids the knife. That wish in the back of his head was dangerous. But he had common sense. He picks up the fork, glad for the offer of food, when it clatters out of his hands. He tries again, only for the fork to shake. He tries to steady it above his meal. Aware that Boss is watching him with mild concern. 

He feels the drug in his system. He feels his legs numb and his nerves calm. That medicine must have been some powerful stuff. He opens his mouth, wanting to know exactly what was in that milk. “Why am I shaking so much?” Sans asks. 

“You’re sober, you idiot.” That was not the answer he thought he'd get...  


“Sober…?” Sans recites the word. Remembering- _No.- **Needing**_ the bitter burn of alcohol down his throat. It would make the pain numb in an _instant_ and erase the night. His body **craved** it… **yearned** for it… As he opened his mouth he felt his tongue **dry** for the **thirst** of liquor. Words churned up in his throat like it was second nature. “Boss… ya think I can head to Grillby’s real quick and-”

There’s a sharp slap across his face that Sans doesn't even register. He just knows his head is twisted to the far right and he’s staring helplessly at the bedroom wall. 

“You’re. _**NOT**_. **ALLOWED**. _To_ **LEAVE**. _**ME**_.” Papyrus shrieks. Sans bites at his jaw. Massaging the sudden strike on his cheek. He slowly begins turning his head back to face his brother. He felt fear strike through his bones. He didn't need a memory to know what that kind of tone meant. 

“I’m _not_ leaving, ya fucking _**psycho**_! How can I? When you _ **fucking** cut my legs in **half**!?_” Sans counters. He inwardly shrinks back, feeling as if he shouldn't have yelled out. Feeling as though those weren't his words. The character of himself feels like it is rushing to the surface of his consciousness. It's not another Sans, but him. Always him. He is adapting to the time shift. Remembering himself. 

And Papyrus?  Papyrus is _fuming_. His eyes are narrow slits across his skull, watching Sans. Analysing him and everything he does, trying to discern truth from someone he can’t even trust. After a moment he tuts his teeth together. "That wasn't meant for you." B oss sits back, hands clenched into the fabric of his apron and his gaze lowered to the floor. “Eat.” He says simply. He doesn't give Sans eye contact again. He doesn't say anything else. He looks as if he’s been scolded, and his brooding in his chair doesn't help. 

Sans doesn't want to bring it up. Everything feels familiar but out of place… he isn't sure if he should speak up anyway. It all feels surreal. But one there’s one thing he’s sure of- one thing he’s glad for. Boss just gave him permission to eat. 

The smell is driving him crazy. He’s hungry and it feels like after wretching his stomach out on the laboratory floors he hasn't eaten in years. Eating something would make him feel better. 

He stumbles around with the fork for a while, drawing, at last, a sizeable bite to his mouth. He relishes in the taste. Flaky dough, covered in butter. It crunches in his mouth, melts like oil on his tongue. Sans gags. Uniquely, the tops are nicely browned, but the bottom of the stack is burned. It is deceivingly inedible. Not just in its cooking... but its ingredients taste wrong. Sans get a bit of carrot in his teeth and wonders how the heck Boss managed to screw up eggs and flour.  


At least… the taste is somewhat drowned out by the excess of butter and syrup. The only thing redeemable about it is the raw blueberries on top… untouched by Boss’s inept cooking. 

Still… Sans is hungry and it's not completely inedible. He’d eaten garbage before, he wasn’t going to complain just because of a little burnt toast or veggies. Besides… _Boss made this for him._

“It's really good.” Sans lies. He smiles a little, seeing the same tinge of a smile on his brother's face. They still don't look at each other. Sans tries to take another bite, steadying his shaking hand only long enough to not drip syrup all over his brother's bedsheets. Right. This wasn't his own room. He's in his brother's bed. Pap must have been nursing him to health all this time. Awfully kind, for the sicko that did this to him. He aims to take another bite but the fork drags along the side of his mouth, missing at first but his tongue is quick to lap at the sugars. 

There continues a silence throughout the meal. The utensils clanking as Sans struggles to feed himself. Papyrus says nothing, adamantly looking anywhere but at Sans. In a brief moment of pity, Papyrus steels the fork away from him and helps feed him. He draws the fork to his mouth and lets Sans chew and swallow before cutting the next piece. His hands are stable. Much more stable than Sans's. 

He feels his stats being checked again. Papyrus's careful stare ensures that his brother's health is rising. Even though he can't say the words he wants to out loud, Sans gets the sense the other deeply cares about him. It was beyond him why the brother was trying to keep him here then. Why he was cutting his bone near off and wouldn't let him see his friends. Something in the back of his mind said it was Boss being his usual overprotective asshole self ... but Sans also felt that was untrue. Papyrus had reason to keep him locked up here. And he partially understands when he takes a look at his own health again. 2. It's... 

Sans almost feels giddy. _Almost_. That low stat is pathetically the highest he will ever see it. But it can change. _It CAN change_. And that almost makes him happy. Except... he was still 1 hit from dying... and maybe that was why Boss was doing this. In however much time had passed between the labs and now... Sans only rose to a 2? 

He opens his mouth as another forkful feeds him. He wants to ask Boss what happened here. his memory was being selective in the things it could conjure up. The silence doesn't last long. Downstairs the door is being knocked on. Pounded on furiously in a way that can only be by Captain Undyne. 

_Undyne?_ Sans almost wants to get out of bed and meet this version of her. He’d hardly got a chance to apologize when he saw her in Waterfall. _Oh… but that was years ago? … hours ago? Past and future seem so jumbled…_

Boss puts down the fork with a sign. He gets up, casting a warning glance at his brother. He opens his mouth, as though there is something he is dying to say. And Sans wants to hear it too... but instead, he leaves the room. Leaving Sans in the room alone as he goes downstairs to tend to business with the royal guard. 

Sans sighs. A real depression takes hold in his chest, and he's not sure if it's his own or future him. Unsurely he tries to pick up the fork again. That's when a voice hums behind him.

"Ahh~ Alone at last…” Sans rolls his head back but can’t see a face. There shouldn't have been anyone anyway. The headboard was right against the wall. But Sans was sure this wasn't a voice from within his head like last time. This voice was a bit too sharp and whiney for that. “I was starting to think he’d never leave. Tsk.Tsk. Shouldn’t have lowered your guard...” 

“Who’s there?!” Sans raises his voice, trying to sound intimidating. _No one should be in here. This was Boss’s room._ And that voice... he couldn't remember who it was but it sounded familiar. _Has he met this person before?_

“Don’t you remember me?” A limb caresses the side of his face, Sans stares at the long vine that wraps around him. How strange and beautiful it's was, adorned with small yellow flowers and unfolding leaves that brushed past him delicately. Sans felt entranced, _had he seen this somewhere before?_

He can’t remember but in a moment the vine tightens. It snaps to life, restricting his head flat against the headrest and another tendril snakes its way to clench around his soul… Sans catches a breath in his throat, unable to summon his magic to defend himself. His soul sputters with the red sparks of magic that fail to form. 

“I’m your _best_ friend.” The voice whispers. 

This was _definitely not a friend_. Sans panics. He thinks of calling Boss for help when the vine tightens around him, cracking bone. Thorns protrude from the vine, running through his neck and through his soul. Sans goes wide-eyed, a hollow note of air escapes his windpipe. One without tone or sound… he can’t yell. Pain etches its way through his bones and drains his excess hp. “I’m your _best nightmare_.” 

His hp can’t hold out anymore. His soul is flattened between the vice grip of vines, shatters like glass. Sans coughs blood. His eye lights dim and wane. _He’s dying…_

Sans gasps. His eyes blur. He stares at himself… fading into a pile of dust and marrow. He doesn’t even consider his own life. He just thinks how fucked up he is. _He’s sorry_. He can’t do _anything right._ He’s sorry that he was born so weak. He’s sorry that he can’t change Papyrus. He’s sorry that he lied. He’s sorry. 

The vines relax, offering him air that he can’t even properly take in. He looks down at himself… aware he’s dusting in the last moments of consciousness. 

He’s sorry. 

He’s so sorry. 

Because… 

He promised not to leave Boss alone...


	13. Sickness

He’s floating.

_Drifting,_

Slowly,

_Down,_

A puddle of his own consciousness.

Confusion, sweat, rot.

_Death._

Memories hurt to think about.

So he tries not too.

And yet-

_Who is he?_

_Where is he?_

These questions rack his brain, searching for an answer.

He sees black in front of him.

An ocean of black. A room, devoid of a light source. A place engulfed in shadow.

His feet can’t touch ground.

If he even had feet.

_Did he have feet?_

He wriggles his toes but can’t feel anything.

It's a strange numbness… not at all like the drug Adult Papyrus gave him.

Drug. Papyrus.

Words come flooding out his mouth but make no sound in the chamber.

_Sans. **Papyrus**. Snowdin. Waterfall. Home. Lab. **Eggs**. Love. **Gaster**._

He was in the deep laboratory with Papyrus. The young one. And then the older Papyrus. Boss. He left the room. But it wasn’t his room? It was his parents room. But not their room.. It was Papyrus’s bedroom.

The thoughts skip in his head in a seemingly random order. It doesn't make sense to him or anyone. Yet slowly, it is starting to piece together... remembering how he got here. Something in his head hurts.

Throbs.

Like the pain in his chest.

The suffocating

Tangle of

**Vines.**

Sans grabs his lower ribs in a panic. Deft fingers grip the cage of his chest over where his soul should be. But he can't see it. Can't find it. Maybe it's not there. Plus, it’s disorienting in the dark. After that flower creature had crushed his soul, he dusted. He died. ... but somehow he's left floating in some void... and he can’t even tell if he’s moving. There is no clear line of sight. There is no sense of smell. No sense of touch. Everything in his body feels numb. Numb and suffocating. He’s sweaty. He knows that for sure. The back of his neck sticks to the fabric of his shirt. Wet and yet intangible. The front of his shirt is the same way- laden in the deep red liquid he knows as blood and marrow.

Red. He sees the bright color in the dark. It’s like it has a light source of its own. As if it was alive and sentient. The color pulses, gushes forward, like a broken pipe. Sans cradles his ribs. Feeling the warmth of blood drip over his fingers and through the void between his bones.

He looks around himself. … Everything seems distant. Vague. Dark for miles… but then there's a single pedestal of light and a patch of grass. It wasn't there before. It's a place that looks friendly and well-lit in the dark. Sans walks towards it. Floats? He swims towards it. He frantically swings his legs to move him forward, unable to feel the friction of the ground push off against the pad of his feet. That place looks like it has words in the distance. Sans has to squint, but he's able to read the bright yellow text **continue** and **reset**. There is a time in the top right side that is increasing. It's number is so high...

Since it's the only thing he can see in this empty start screen, he tries to head over to the grassy platform... but he can't make it. He feels as though he's being pulled farther and farther from that place.

He’s falling.

Falling. And Floating.

He closes his eyes.

\---Present---

“Sans?!” Papyrus shakes his shoulder. The feeling sways through his consciousness.

It’s so dark. _But why?_

Oh right, he hasn’t opened his eyes.

Papyrus. Papyrus needed him.

Boss needed him.

He’d never leave him alone.

He’d protect his baby brother…

He’d protect his-

“ Boss?” The words feel sluggish in his mouth. Sans opens his eyes, head reeling from past and future memories. _This was the correct time, right? This was him right?_ He looks down at his legs… _yup_. All fixed up. _Is that normal? Or was that a mistake of crossing timelines?_

Wait… did he just …Die?

Papyrus sits by his side, a single eye light glows to illuminate the shadows of his face. They’re in the lab. Sans jolts to sit up from the floor, he looks around himself quickly to try to get some bearings on his whereabouts. They’re in Gaster's Lab. In the incubation room. His clothes smell of vomit… and his brother is helping him to sit up. Concern is evident in the shadows of his face.

Sans looks down at his toes, can’t see them through the sneakers he wears. But he feels the digits wriggling through his socks. He definitely had feeling in his toes in his timeline. He snaps his head to look at Papyrus. _Boss_. He was so _tiny_ … so cute and adorable... he can reach out and pull the other into a tight hug… so he does. He grabs his baby brother by the shoulders and pulls him into a full on embrace. Almost choking on a sob. His mind felt numb. _What the hell was that? Where was he a moment ago? Who was he a moment ago? Oh, stars he never wanted to go back there again._

“Sans! You’re covered in vomit! Get away!” His baby bro pushes weakly against him. It's a futile push because he doesn't want to hurt his brother. He comes to settle into the awkward hug. “… you smell.” He grumbles, but unresisting the hug he rests his head on Sans's shoulder. “You collapsed suddenly… I thought… I thought you... ” His voice trembles. Its the first time Sans has ever heard his brother sound so weak. _Did he actually care?_ Tiny hands come up to ball into the back of his sweater. Sans gasps a deep breath, feeling very confused about what had just happened but he felt alive. Alive and happy his brother was so close.

“I’m here Boss.” Sans pats the others head, the smaller skeleton is still. “I won’t leave you.”

“Promise?” It sounds like he’s begging on the verge of tears.

“Promise…” Sans confirms. He hugs Papyrus tighter in the embrace. His head feels weird. He thinks he just died. But he’s not sure. But Papyrus was near… and it felt right. Safe.

It feels sticky and wet to be sandwiched between Sans and his vomit… but this was a genuine hug for him and the child relishes in the adoration. It's something he’s missed since the passing of his parents. Something he needed and craved. He could practically feel Sans's tears drip down his back. Papyrus tut his teeth, apathetically patting the skeletons back to calm him down. It was his fault that Sans's nightmares were becoming so vivid... so Papyrus could excuse this outburst. For now.

The hug made it worth it... a little bit.

The child stares out at the blank wall as minutes tick on. He clings tight to Sans clothes and tries to be patient, though he wants to do something else. When Sans had suddenly collapsed he worried for his life. He tried to help Sans to sit up and drag him to a corner. He tried to get him water and even gave him another injection but Sans didn't stir. It seemed the only thing he could do was wait until Sans woke. It didn't take more than an hour but now... since Sans is seemingly okay, Papyrus's patience waiting is wearing thin.

Over his brother's shoulder, his eyes come upon the conveyor belts of eggs. They are pristine and on the edge of a table, as if asking to be knocked over. Testing the extent of his abilities, he outstretches one of his hands and tries to conjure a blaster beast like Sans had done. His magic sparks tiny flares in the darkness. Confused and unwilling to form into this new shape. Despite how he tries again and again… he has to give up before his magic is drained completely.

The child’s mind wanders from thing to thing… eyeing the strand of spider web with curiosity… then the lab with nostalgia. He chooses to focus on Sans only because he can hear the pulse of his soul so close. Papyrus knew Sans was weak… not just in body but spirit too. The way he cried on him showed how close Sans was to a breakdown. But even if his brother was weak, that was okay. Sans was his. He'd protect him. They'd protect each other. Papyrus lays his head down and closes his eyes to listen to that faint pulse. Like it's owner, it was weak too.

His gentle pat on the back turns into a swipe. And given a couple more minutes, the child strums his finger across the other's ribs… waiting. He notes that the shattered false ribs had already healed. It was one of the effects of the Determination drug Paps had shared with his brother. The wound was scarred over, never to be the same. But at least it was better. He pays special attention to avoid those tender ribs when he pats Sans on the back.

"Pap..." Comes the quiet hush of a whisper. Sans says it so low that he might shatter if he raised his voice any higher. "I think... I died."

Papyrus scrunches his face together, his petting stops. "...You remember!"

The change in his tone only makes Sans tremble with worry. That sort of reaction wasn't the kind of thing he wanted to hear from his baby brother. It seems much more upbeat and relieved than what a normal monster would react with. Did Pap also know? Did he also time travel???

"...How?... Did you already know Papyrus?" Sans's face twists in confusion. That whole mind fuck of shifting times was still new to him. He had no idea what to make of it.... or if it was even a dream. Papyrus seemingly knows about this though, but rather than speaking he thinks showing him would be better. They were in Dad's lab after all. This was the best place to get answers. He grabs his brother's hand and Pap pulls him towards another room. They amble slowly because of how the other leans away with a headache. Pain compounding in his skull as familiar things in the lab triggered new memories. Papyrus is slow with his brother, patient, and easily curls into the touch of their hands. He leans on his big brother's arm and holds him tight. They both want to go home. Yet here they are at the end of the hall, a room that they both knew with an eerie feeling. Something deeply engrained in their bones, like a scar on the inside of their skull, it itched. 

Papyrus nods to the door, inviting Sans to take a step in. "Is this... going to answer my question Paps?"

"Boss."

"Yes. Boss. Is this. This is... ? "

"Just open it."

"...okay. Right. yeah." Sans sucks in a deep breath of air, watching how his little brother nods for him to just open it. Summoning his courage, he takes their conjoined hand-holding and uses it to push open the door to the back of the hall.


	14. ( mini break to vote!)

Hello~!!! I'm Jellyfnf!!!

Thank you for reading my fics and being patient while I make updates!

Thank you for commenting and being my motivation to continue!! >w< !!

If your a fan of the story please take a minute to go vote on the Fell bros future!

In short I want to know if the future of the story should be aiming for Fellcest, or if it should just be a brotherly Fell relationship!

Either way :D Red is tormented by Boss lol.

.

.

.

You can drag the squibblydoop to a url to go to my twitter!  
( ・∀・ )ゞOr maybe you can click it hahah.

~*~*~*~

 ** _Please only go here if you are 18 or older_** .

( gone)

 ** _Please only go here if you are 18 or older_** .

~*~*~*~*~

It's over!  


If you dont have a twitter you can also leave comments here on ao3!

I know a lot is going on in the story with "time travel" shennanigans ( >w>) but it's going to be explained later.

The problem with the next chapter is how it handles the Fell bro's relationship.

So if you want a brotherly bond building, like the last 12 chapters - _where Sans is respecting Paps and calling him a brother_ -then vote for that!

If you want the (adult) Red and Fell to _start loving each other as_ _more than brothers_ \- vote for that too!

I dont do underage fics! So, anything in the child timeline would be innocent and safe.

If you want something more like a sadistic boss/yan pap that loves his brother to the point of breaking him hahah.... then you're a **freak**.

...and I am too. 

No matter how you vote...

Hehehehe, you're getting that Papyrus either way. ʚ♡⃛ɞ(ू•ᴗ•ू❁) Just a heads up.

Again thankies, and have a lovely day my readers!


	15. File of the dead

The room reeks.

The stench of death is concentrated in this small room. Inhaling the rot, makes every breath short and eyes water. It's dark. Really dark. Like no one has bothered to replace the bulbs here and the lights wont come on. His eyes can barely make out denser objects in the room against the white walls. Close to the door there are bookshelves. He and Papyrus walk there, only to stay on the perimeter of the dark abyss. As they walk by, they see how thick the dust lines the shelves. Sans squeezes his throat, feeling the smell burning his every breath. 

Rather than books, small glass jamming jars without lids are stacked on the shelves in various sizes. They hold some weird shaped things in them. Organs. Eyes. Whole hands. At the sight of a soul in formaldehyde he holds Paps tiny hand tighter. Partly a reflex from fear, and wanting to know Pap was beside him still in this thick dark. But also… it helped to keep Papyrus from wandering away… and mischievously knocking any off the shelf. Sans didn’t think his stomach could take it if the smell in here got any worse. 

When the rows of shelves end, large glass containers begin to line the walls. It's a vague but familiar scene. Sans clutches the side of his head. One of his earliest memories is looking out at the doc from behind this concave glass surface. The curvature warped everything in front of him. The bubbles obscured the doc’s floating hands. Wires and hooks were pressed into his soul. The doc kept him there to keep him stable. He returned him to the liquid often. Something about the chemical makeup of the gel was able to keep a monster from dusting. And Sans was always falling and knocking into things- much to his father’s annoyance. 

He knew he wasn’t like other children. Even with the gaps in his memory he remembered being tested on. He remembered dad’s disappointment in his health. He remembered being brought to the labs in a half dozed state. But seeing the glass jar centerfold with something floating in it… his own face staring out… was the last shred of proof he needed to know he was far far more than different. 

He summons a shaking blue bone weapon to his hand, and presses it flat against the glass. In the reflective shine he can see clearly it's his own face. It's melted and distorted but it had his wide cheek bones and goofy permanent smile. But there's more attached to it. From it's shoulder onward there is a misshapen half caved in skull. Long chin, high cheekbones, wide brows, it looks like the adult Paps. The two are fused to the same body, melted and broken. The specimen floating in it now, something like a fusion of the two brothers, seemed to be a lifeless husk. Yet with the glow of the bone, the reflection of the glass seemed to create terrifying eyelights that followed them along. 

The sight of it sends a tremble through his bones. He examines it closer, even though his legs are twitching like he wants to run. It was a silly instinct. This thing was dead. Long dead. The wires that feed out the machine aren’t hooked up or anything. The blue liquid that keeps it afloat has hardened like rock… cementing the thing inside. Besides, the creature is only a skull and vertebrae, nothing else. It couldn't chase them even if it escaped from that tube. Sans gulps, frozen with sweat. Those familiar skeletal faces… had been him and Pap. And yet it’s been dead, preserved, for a long time. 

He turns around, holding the blue bone outward like a lamp. 

There are other things down here. Sleeping monsters in boxes… just like Paps had said. 

Sans gulps. The dim light starts to illuminate the shadows. He sees limbs. Fingers. Arms. Bones. Hands. Skulls. The horrible odor suddenly makes sense. Piled on the floor are dozens of half corrupted monsters. Some have skin hanging off their lanky frames. Some still have the look of anguish on their face as they died.

They are all petrified. Mummified. Refused the right to a proper dusting…

Paps doesn’t let go of Sans’s hand. He too, finds the place disturbing but for far different reasons. The two shamble about from body to body. Illuminating the half formed faces. There was half an attempt early to stack them in coffins respectfully. But there are only a handful. The coffins took up too much space and resources for the doc to bother with. Sans gets a bit closer, choosing a small nonthreatening coffin meant for a child. It’s smaller than Papyrus is. 

He raises the lid briefly only to be repelled by the stench of death. It slams shut as soon as he lets go. Paps picks up the lid and tries again. He has a stronger tolerance for the dead. He stares down at the infant mash of hair and skin and bones. This one has solid eyes like the specimen in the jars. Paps closes the lid and takes a look at another. Each time getting a steadier look at the face of their prototypes. Numbers line the sides of jars, off colored papers hang off the coffins. They are numbered and stamped with failure. 

“These are clones.” Sans feels a tremor through his spine.“They’re … us. Before dad made us.” He turns towards his baby brother. “But you already knew that… didn’t you?”

Papyrus nods. Wingdings was difficult for his reading level, but he’d still been able to understand some letters. His gaze is fixated on the version of himself… an incomplete model that almost made it to adulthood. It is a grotesque melting of bones and scales. The creature’s dead eyes seem to follow the two brothers. Its unsettling.

This room is claustrophobically small compared to the rest of the lab. Though it is a resting place for the dead, there is no respect here at all. Bodies are stacked over each other. Contorted brutefully to be able to stack into corners. Boxes of papers, files sit atop the bodies, like they are desks. This storage closet of a room is packed tight with the failure clones. Sans felt sick again. He wanted to leave. To run out that door and heave a sharp breath of air without the scent of corruption and death. 

… And yet his eyes caught the glint of file cabinets further in the back. At the very end. Protected by a mountain of bodies that would drive any sane monster away in fear. 

Sans tuts his teeth… and apologetically steps on them as a ladder to reach precious documents.

Bones crack underneath his shoes. It's squishy and rubbery foothold as skin slides away from the dead. Each step is gross and slippery. 

He immediately regrets doing this. 

This is some sick twisted game of ‘the floor is lava’ and Sans is undeniably the winner. Scrabbling on every gross nub and limb to get far far away from the ground. 

Pap is cheering him up as he climbs the stepping stool of human and monster bodies. He surfs unsteadily on the shimmying flesh. One wrong step breaks through a ribcage. It tears like tissue paper. And his sneaker splunks down into a wet goop. Sans shudders as the wetness quickly travels through his soles and up his socks- spreading the fresh smell gastric juices and intestine splatters. A lovely bouquet of odor. He doesn't dare look down. He stares at the file cabinet as his only anchor point. 

It's his goal. Just get it and go. Get it and go!

He holds his breath, gently lifting his foot out of the puddle he didn’t want to think about. He leans forward, distributing his weight a bit more evenly. Some bodies, as fragile as thin ice. He whimpers in his throat a pathetic cry when his brother tells him he’s almost there~ 

He stretches his fingertips as far out as his arm width can reach. And scrambles for the file cabinet drawer. As soon as he can wrap a pinky around the handle, he yanks with all his strength and pulls the whole thing out. The heavy metal shelf slot just falls out of his grip. Sliding down the pile of corpses to where Pap helpful stops it's momentum with a kick of his foot. 

They share a collective sigh. 

Somehow he manages to come back down, following the same  _ slide  _ \- dont think about it- path that the file used to get back to Pap. His bottom and heels scrape up slimes and unidentifiable body parts. 

He drags the file slot back out to the front door. Pap tries to help him by holding one end. But he’s not very strong… and Sans didn’t have the patience to be in this room a moment longer. 

He heaves a heavy breath of cool - sterilized air conditioned hallway air when at last the room is cleared. He can wipe the decrepit oils and fermented body remains on his pant legs and try not to think of what slosh was in his sneaker. 

“Why get that file?” Papyrus asks. Finally speaking now that his air wasn’t being cut off. 

Sans catches his breath. He looks at the metal slot. A row of files line it's inside. It only caught his eye because of the large wingdings labeling it.💧 ✌☠ 💧

“It has my name…” He grunts in his throat, regretting saying that. Because now he knows for sure Papyrus is going to want to go back and find a file with his name too. There had to be one labeled for him too. … Somewhere in those dark depths. 

He tries to make an excuse early before Pap demands his own file. “...I didn’t see yours… it's … probably buried…” He feels a shudder of wet drip down his spine. Unsure if it's sweat or some bodily remnant from the monsters he slid down. He shakes his head clear of the thought. “Or somewhere else.” 

His hand rubs the top of the file cases. By date… they are years older than him. Probably depicting those failures. His stomach turned, the crisp scent still in his nostrils. He’d heave if he wasn’t already running on empty. 

The file in opens up to an random page. On it, in the top right, is a paper clipped photo of a baby skeleton. It's ribcage is packed tightly with so many motors and wires that the front has been sliced open and left exposed to view. Sans shudders with the image, both horrified and fascinated by the disturbing appearance. So he sits down in the hall and scrunches his face to read the wingding heavy report. 

_ [Day xx] _

_ [I fear the tissue sample Asgore provided was not enough. _

_ It seems, there needs to be a binding of more than DNA to create something strong enough that can survive its own sneeze. Earlier today, subject 33 died again. Resurrection took 45 minutes. _

_ A new record. _

_ I’ve taken to replacing its soul with the battery of a lawn mower I’ve scavenged from the dump. _

_ It is far easier to repair the mechanical apparatus than wasting my healing magic on the dud. _

_ So far, subject 33 seems to be in pain, but cannot vocalize anything. _

_ Therefore I can only presume it’s only acting out for attention. _

_ How very much like a child to cry.] _

“…Can you read it?” He feels Pap tug his sleeve at his side. His brother sits beside him, squinting at the scribble letters. They were so condensed he didn’t even bother trying to read it. He picked up letters here and there... but there was just so much. “I can’t understand it that well... He never taught me.” 

“Probably to keep you from learning any of this.” Sans mumbles, he looks up briefly to see the manila folder’s heading. It's the same heading written on every file. It's stamped all over his archive and sealed with the kings crescent. ‘Property of W.D. Gaster.’ 

He flips around. Past the docs personal notes. Inside are legal documents, signed off by King Asgore. They dispute his right as property and as a weapon. He is only an experiment. A thing made from the dust of a monster and the blood of a human. It discusses in detail a plan to build a tool to open the barrier. 

Project Sans. 

A prototype. 

One of many sacrifices to force open the doors for all of monster kind. 

There’s more. Lots more. Bloodied files and graphic photos of surgeries. The images of clones are too horrible to stare at. This wasn't what he came for anyway. It was selfish… but he wanted to know more about himself. And a good place to start might be with his birth year. 

He returns his folder back to the file and skims the top of the file cabinet until he finds the year he’s looking for. Opening it up shows a complete detailing of his childhood. The face staring back at him in the photos is undeniably his own. And seeing himself sparks those images deep in his head. 

Horrible nightmares, made true by photos of past experiments. There were times his skull had been sliced open… times his soul had been poked and prodded. Times he’d been treated like cattle and times he’d been treated like less than a living thing. Like the other clones, he’d been treated no differently. 

Papyrus looks over his shoulder, taking a look at the photos with him. Compared to the horrid nightmare in the room behind them… photos was far tamer way of seeing the horrific disfigured monster combinations. Even though it is less direct to see a photo of blood and bonnes, it is still something neither want to keep in their memory for a long time. 

But this was their origins. They  **needed** to know the truth. So they pressed on with a morbid need of self discovery. 

“I’ll read it to you.” Sans whispers quietly. So he opens his arms wider and let his brother snuggle into his lap. He holds the case report in front of them and reads it like a picture book. 

“  _ [Month xxxx] _

_ [It has learned to crawl small distances. _

_ This is a shame since Subject 87 was formed with bow legs. While most monsters outgrow this and live normal lives, previous incarnations in a creature of bone are not able to bear their own weight before shattering both legs. _

_ It would have been a favorable situation if it didn’t attempt to walk. _

_ Yet the toddler tries again and again. It's quite stubborn.  _

_ It waddled to me while I was getting my morning coffee. _

_ After 12 hours in surgery with another patient, I was not in the best mindset to deal with the toddler. At the time, it seemed fitting I share the hot beverage with the thing pawing at my foot. It gave me great amusement. But I regret to say Subject 87 may be blind after the encounter.  _

_ Curious. Since skeletons possess no flesh or sclera… I wonder how and why it’s sudden blindness was even triggered. After drying the coffee from inside the skull there should be nothing preventing the magic from routing to the sockets. _

_ I’ll have to schedule an exam to split it’s eyelights in half.  _

_ See how they work and see if a spare part can be transferred. ]” _

Sans gulped. He looked at his lil bro and flashed his eyelight at him. The smokey trail of red escaped from the side of his skull. Without saying a thing, Papyrus caught on. Blinking his into existence too. Like Sans, he only had one side lighting up. 

“...Do I have your eye?” Sans asked. 

Papyrus shrugged his shoulders. It's not as if he knew the answer, he wasn't the quack who did the shady operation.Papyrus also only had one eye… but he was much younger than him. He wouldn't have been around to be the donor. Sans shook his head free of the thought. It wasn't from Papyrus. But it definitely was from _ a Papyrus _ . 

It's kind of hard to ignore the room of  _ spare parts _ right behind them. Maybe a different Pap’s eyes are in his skull. Those could have all been his siblings… The older Papyrus in his memory looks alot like some of the adult forms mashed up in there. He didn’t know what to make of the timeline in his head. 

“Maybe our eyelights came from one of those clones..” Sans whispers. The next journal entry confirms his theory.

_ [Year x]  _

_ [One of the idiots down here decided to bring cake. As a celebratory joke, I’d imagine. _

_ Seeing as how subject 87 is currently in a coma, I’ve had to dispose of the sugary gift. _

_ Fortunately, I’ve learned that putting cake in the incinerator is a good incentive to get failed subjects out of the way quietly. As with 90… who crawled in the chute without me knowing.  _

_ I was only able to catch it half way. _

_ While it’s a shame to lose the new subject, it was interesting to sort through the half charred and melted monster remains… It seems as though the Papyrus series can live a short while with their head separated from their body. _

_ I used the opportunity to scrape up fresh eye lights for 87 . _

_ After the implant there has been no change in 87’s status.] _

_ “ [Year x Month x] _

_ [This past month has yielded no more progress than normal.  _

_ In his weakened state, there is no response to any outside stimuli.  _

_ Though 87 has yet to dust, it doesn’t seem to have any higher brain activity. Perhaps the scalding from earlier damaged not just eyelights, but whatever synapses in its skull that are connected to a soul’s base functions.  _

_ The cloud of magic inside looks thin. It seems ridiculous a fresh pot of coffee could do that. Third degree burns would be normal, but melting magic?  _

__

_ Subject 87, while remaining intact, does not respond to any tests.  _

_ I fear if this continues I may have to euthanize and start over.  _

_ It’s other parts can still be used.]” _

Sans grimaces again at the callous words.

This was his father. Papyrus’s father. The monster who… despite everything else, raised him. Raised them both. It was hard to think of him in the context of this lab. In the context of this file.

Gaster was someone who had abandoned him and left him to die.

Sans had been plagued for years by his own abandonment. Part of him thought Gaster was a bad father… But a larger part of self hatred and doubt somehow linked this to being his own fault. For being born weak and pathetic.

\--But this file showed that, time and time again, it was simply easy for the doc to discard useless things. Sans wasn’t anything to him. Just another number..

Number 87. This was him.

The last subject entry among a long line of ‘sanses’. That was him. That was his name. He shuddered with the thought that Papyrus had been the same way. The brother in his lap was someone younger than him by nearly 5 years. In the time it took to make him, there could have been dozens maybe hundreds of clones made since then. 

In his lap Papyrus’s grabs one of his hands. “You’re shaking?” He points out something so obvious like it was alien to him. “You didn’t know.” He sounds disappointed. He flips the page to the next entry. “Keep reading.” His brother says calmly.

Sans takes a look down the hall, feeling as though something was watching them. Too long in any dark place made it feel as though there were something staring beyond the walls. It's been too long since they arrived. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to the sofa and pretend none of this happened. He wanted a bath. He wanted to erase these memories from his head… and erase these files. It was too much for a child to process.

“[ _ A thought occurred, that this unresponsive subject may instead be compartmentalizing fear and shock from the initial event and withdrawn to his own mind as a way to prevent future harm. _

_ This may be some instinct to play dead. An unresponsive wakefulness. _

_ If that was the case, and not a coma, it should have been a simple matter to ‘wake’ the subject up with one huge jolt of pain. The basic survival instincts should kick in. _

_ I have attempted to measure its tolerance of pain on several different scales without the use of anesthetic.As with the others, the density of bone hasn’t changed. The externalized bone structures are very malleable.Unlike a normal skeleton whose bones acts as an armor, this fusion of magic and human has very brittle structure. _

_ If enough pressure is behind it, I suspect a child’s toy could pierce it. With surgical tools, its as easy as peeling a potato. I imagine an increase in defense will also strengthen bone… but with a single digit in each stat the child doesn’t have much potential-  _

_ -other than the initial fluke of survival.] _

_ [Year xx] _

_ [This won't do, 87 hasn’t woken. _

_ I think it's time to start pouring funds into the next subject. Unfortunately the Papyrus series will not regenerate its sight and I cannot move on to the next Sans series without recycling its soul. _

_ Reusing parts has never been such a problem before. _

_ My hesitance to restart and scrap 87 is because its been difficult to find what exactly made 87 stable in the first place. All previous experiments do not survive the ten month mark and yet 87 is nearly two years developed. _

_ It’s baffling.  _

_ A colleague mentioned that upon review of the video entries he learned I had cut myself during a routine procedure. Perhaps it was my own blood that encouraged 87 to stay intact? _

_ I must try this with others… but first I must deal with the employee looking at restricted files… _

_ Perhaps I should make him a cake.] _

_ [Year xxxx] _

_ My lab assistant brought toys down to share with the subject. I’ve told them repeatedly not to get attached... but it seems to have a positive effect on subject 87. The colorful stuffed animals litter the floor of the lab. Basic language skills have been replaced with an incomprehensible babble of consonants. My colleges whom I thought were on my same level are now babbling and playing in the office. Idiots. They forget the future of monsterkind is at stake here. _

_ Despite how I feel about it… Subject 87 responds well to the attention. The child is laughing. _

_ Up until now I thought the child was mute. Never had it cried out loud. Not during experiments at least. It’s a possibility the presence of idiotic babble from my coworkers encouraged 87 to interact with others. _

_ It’s also a possibility that its unusual growth cycle had created a physical set of vocal chords. Previous incarnations of Asgore’s mutated brat also had these deformities- human tissue developing in odd places. Humans don’t appear to speak until after 14 months. Perhaps subject 87 simply didn’t have the function to speak until now. Sound might not be produced from the soul, but instead from the throat or inside the skull . I must check into this matter later.] _

_ [Year xxx Month xxxx]  _ __ __

_ [As predicted, Subject 87 does not have a set of vocal chords. Video set 452 will show the progress of this surgery. However, I’ve found that the soul it possesses seems to have some instinctive traits such as breathing. A useless feature, but quite curious to see the soul constricting in a chokehold when I returned the subject to the healing gel. It took a few minutes for the liquid to fill out every hollow arch and the reaction subsided as though it had drowned.  _

_ [Year xxxx Month xxxxx] _

_ [I’ve decided to marry one of my coworkers. The positive stimuli she provides seems to be good for subject 87. Since the experiment only possesses one hit point I must hope that these ridiculous toys and rituals of nonsensical song can help heal the mental damage sustained. For now it’s tolerable. It’s oddly enough to repair the soul. _

_ Subject 87 seems to flourish in the new environment. Its motor skills have improved to clap and run. The running is annoying. I’d hoped the bent legs wouldn't be strong enough to support him, but it seems through months of effort it's managed to strengthen its step. It teeters about the lab with the grace of a drunken Moldsmal. The countless times it has hit itself on walls and chairs is ridiculous. At least it’s learned to avoid me this time around.  _

_ The grossness of bone jutting out in those opposite directions irks me as well. By all means, it isn't right for that thing to be standing. Let alone running. The words ‘baby proofing’ have been brought up. But seeing as how expensive that is, I’ve decided to spend my funds on more useful things. Breaking it's legs should reorient the bone over time, and solve both problems.]”  _

Sans stops reading. He cant read anymore anyway. The rest of the text looks so blurry. And the paper crumples in his fist. He feels Pap turn in his lap to give him the largest hug his tiny arms could manage. But Sans feel anything but  the flat of his teeth grind down inside his jaw. 

There is a wetness sliding down his cheek and his vision clears. Quickly, he looks back at the file and flips to the end, notes had traced him to the pits of Waterfall. They’d made note of his dirt home behind the falls. There were cameras surveillancing him. There were logs and pictures of Sans sneaking into his dirt home carved from behind the waterfalls. The updates had stopped recently, the last entry was right before the doctors death.That fated day when Papyrus killed him in cold blood. 

It surprised him. Even when Sans thought he was alone, the doctor had kept steady tabs of his experiment over the years. It couldn’t have been anyone else. No one could come in and out of this place except Gaster, it was rooted to his keycard and magic signature. 

So… how did Pap know? 

If he couldn't read. If he couldn't get in here without Sans. If Gaster kept him out of the labs and raised him in Snowdin… how did Pap know about the clones down here? How did he know about any of this? 

“...Did he tell you?” Sans’s mouth parts with the question. 

“No. I remember.” 

“Remember?” 

“Little parts. Small memories.” Papyrus closed the file in his hand. He twisted around in Sans’s lap and faces his brother. "In this one, I wasn’t allowed in the labs. Dad made sure I never saw them… past -well... being made. The same day I was made I was taken home to Snowdin. He didn’t want to repeat his mistakes.”

“You couldn't… possibly remember being made?”

“I do. And I remember more than that too! I remember meeting you for the first time. Both of us in our final version. You were going to try and kill me.” 

Sans wasn't prepared for that bombshell. That accusation makes his throat catch and his heart stills. He can hear his soul tremble. Papyrus lies back on Sans’s chest, listening to the drum beat. “But you couldn't do it anyway. I know you wont ever hurt me.” 

Sans gives him a little squeeze, because he can’t exactly agree with that. And he doesn't know what to say. Hugging the little maniac sat in his lap, he wonders if he  _ could  _ hurt him. If it were even  _ possible _ . There was a difference in hp… but Pap’s defense was lowered whenever he was with his brother. 

Sans could squeeze him right here. 

End everything. 

Go live in that big empty home. 

There wouldn’t be any demands. 

No responsibilities…. 

But this was his brother.

Granted he was only a brother to him for a little over a month. But Sans liked the kid. He was okay for a brat. But… Papyrus scared him in a lot of ways. He was a savage disguised as a cute kid. Sans pecked the psychos skull with a small skeletal kiss. 

“Yeah.” He admits at last. “I tried to kill you when you were little.” Papyrus doesn't even stir. Sans watches him carefully, wondering what kind of expression Pap would make, but he can’t see his brothers face when he was sitting in his lap. “I thought… stupidly… Mom and Dad might let me come back in the house if I had leveled up.” He sighs. “I see now… Da-Gaster, never would have let me come home.” He rubs Papyrus’s skull. “You have a photographic memory huh?” 

Papyrus isn’t sure what that means… but he knows that’s not where his memory comes from. He shakes his head. “ I remember” he says firmly, the kid goes on. “I remember my other lives too. That’s how I knew. I thought you remembered too.” 

“What?”  Sans blinks. 

“I knew Dad was a bad guy. Always. He hurt me a lot. He hurt you a lot. I remember loads of times when you were growing up, I’d see you in the labs. Running. I wanted to try running too… but only my soul was still intact. The rest of me was in jars. I was dieing. But hooked up to a battery. It hurt. Bad. Dad ignored me to take care of you. When he sawed off your legs. He realigned them correctly and put a splint over them.”

Sans shakes his head. “Dont try to scare me Pap-.”

“I’m not! I learned medicine from watching him operate. But im not good at it. I always hated it. I hate how he does it. But I’ll learn it to keep you safe sans! You break easily so I’ll study more!.” This is unreal… Sans can hardly believe what he’s hearing. 

But…

Did that… make sense somehow? 

Sans’s throat felt dry, his soul was beating loudly, but he remembered too. Not in any order he can put into words but… “I also... remember” Slowly he nods his head. “I remember… things that haven’t happened yet… I think.”

Papyrus tilts his head, a little confused but he’s still glad to hear it. “See? We’re the same?” Papyrus smiles sadly. “We’re both half of the same soul. … split up again and again… again …and again. That’s why we can’t be apart. Never. Never ever!” His brother hugs him tightly. Sans raises a hand to half return the gesture, his eyes go back down to the file he holds, then to the cabinet drawer on the floor. 

His whole life is here. His whole lives are here. 

Something made from human and monster remains into a makeshift soul. … Something split in half between two living subjects. Papyrus and him… formed a single human heart. Pap could remember his past resets… Sans remembered the future ones… 

Something was wrong here. 

Very wrong. 

And Sans was filled with determination to find out what it all meant. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for voting and leaving such nice comments!!!  
> (ToT)♥I haven't responded to everyone but it warms my heart.
> 
> Fellcest won the vote~ so please be AWARE the RATING WILL CHANGE.  
> When that happens this fic will be for 18+ years or older because the content will have some adult themes. 
> 
> I hope everyone's loved ones are okay. Call them on the phone or video chat. This is hard for everyone.  
> Please stay safe and do something nice for yourself to keep happy while we are all stuck indoors.


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